


Streetlights on the Road to Nowhere

by Kabansky



Series: Redemption Fall [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Redemption, Self-Discovery, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:39:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabansky/pseuds/Kabansky
Summary: A year and a half after Nick's graduation, he and Judy are married and have begun their life together.  Finnick however, continues to struggle.  Haunted by a horrific event that took place two years ago, he is faced with a devastating reality that threatens to ruin him.  With Nick's relentless faith and support, Finnick strives to find peace and happiness while confronting a lifetime of memories.I split the prequel timeline into a separate story, and will continue this one once Growing Young is completed.





	1. Normandy Drive

**Author's Note:**

> This is my sleeplessness/injury/overcaffeination induced attempt at writing a story. I know.

"Hakuna Matata."

-A talking meerkat

 

Rain poured steadily through the windless night sky.  Orange-hued streetlights illuminated a picturesque suburban street cul-de-sac with identical single story suburban homes.  On the end of the street, there was a three-way intersection with a winding boulevard running perpendicular to it, with more pine forest standing like sentries alongside it.  The whole neighborhood was silent apart from the steady rhythm of the freezing rain.  Not a pine needle rustled in the wind, nor did a cricket chirp.

A lone dragonfly perched on top of the stop sign like a sleeping guard, its wings fluttering in the rain.

The quiet rhythm was suddenly interrupted by the gentle rush of an approaching car, whose headlights carved their way towards the cul-de-sac. The dragonfly seemed to snap out of its reverie, and through compound eyes it watched an old grey pickup truck roll past. 

Inside, a hooded figure gently hummed to himself.  His fingers drummed habitually on the steering wheel, tapping out the beat of the smooth jazz that floated from the speakers as the orange light of the streetlamps flooded the truck’s interior. 

As he passed the cul-de-sac, the green and white street sign that stood on the corner caught the figure’s eye. Through the rain-spattered window, the street’s name could still be seen clearly. 

**Normandy Dr**

In the driveway of the nearest house, a bobcat lazily pushed a garbage can to the curb.  He caught sight of the passing vehicle, and paused to stare.  Their eyes met, and the bobcat glared intensely back as the truck disappeared from view.    

The figure lost sight of the bobcat, and the pine trees gave way to a wide open field, where a small playground was visible as an obscure tangle of lines in the dark.  Across the field, a winding interstate snaked its way into the distance, lit by dozens of pairs of headlights.

The bobcat watched the vehicle disappear around the corner before turning on his heel and walking back up the driveway towards the small, one story suburban home.  Once inside, he was met with a barrage of noise and emotions, and he walked straight down the hall to his bedroom and shut the door, desperate to drown out the commotion emanating from the kitchen.

A young fennec fox, only a toddler, sat in the corner of the filthy kitchen with his face buried in his knees.  He was wearing only a long, filthy, orange sweater, and was so malnourished and unkempt that he could be mistaken for a child living on the street.  A long, dirty mop of tan headfur fell to his shoulders.

Mammals all around him shouted continuously at each other.  One of them approached the toddler and screamed a heated remark at him before delivering a swift kick to his abdomen.  The fennec scrambled to his footpaws and ran as fast as he could go into the nearest enclosed space, which was a linen closet at the end of the hall that led away from the kitchen.

He shut the door quickly and dove into the corner, where he curled up and cringed at the shouts of anger and sounds of an open palm impacting flesh and bone echoing across the house.

The fennec awoke to fire.  In the depths of his infant mind, the blinding light that erupted around him reminded him of home.  A faint, discernable memory flashed momentarily, and he thought he was looking up into kind, golden-brown eyes again. 

When strong, leather-gloved paws grabbed him around the middle, all positive emotions vanished.  He knew what was about to happen, and the burning, itching pain in the skin of his lower back left the fennec no doubt that it was going to be worse this time.

However, these paws did not drag him roughly along like they usually did, and he suddenly realized they were different.  Slightly larger, and infinitely gentler, they were clasping him firmly to the warm parka of a strange mammal. 

A thick voice like solid granite shouted directly above the fennenc’s ears, yelling for someone named Anton.  Tremendous heat poured in all around, and the fennec cried out in fear and agony.  He could not see anything, and every breath seared his throat. 

With a noise like a thunderclap, the heat vanished, and freezing wind replaced it.  The leather-gloved paws continued to grip him tightly as the mammal carrying him ran out across a grassy field.  Deafening noises exploded around them like thunder, and before he knew it, he was in the backseat of a car. 

They drove for hours, and soon the fennec became aware that night was falling.  Trees whipped past them, then long grassy fields and suburban neighborhoods, then small foothills.  It would have been relaxing had it not been for the concerned voices of his rescuers. 

“No…no we can’t go through Bunnyburrow.  Too risky.”

“What about Warrenville?” 

“Maybe…”

Gunfire erupted from somewhere outside.  The car careened off the road and into a ditch.  Blood spattered the fennec’s fur, and silence followed.

The fennec sat stunned for several minutes.  Soon it became clear to him that the two mammals in the seats in front of him were never going to move again.  He clambered off his own seat, and leaned across the center console to see their faces clearly.

A male pine martin wearing a plaid sweater and blue jeans in the driver’s seat looked almost frozen in time.  His eyes were open and forward, and his expression was almost bored, as if he were still driving.  Turning to the passenger seat, the fennec felt a cold shiver of shock ripple through him.

An adult male fennec fox was slumped against the window with his eyes closed like he was sleeping.  A single bullet wound in his neck continued to bleed slowly, and the seat was caked in the blood from several more wounds that had impacted his torso and arms.  The fennec stared at the adult version of himself curiously, his eyes lingering on the thick black vest he wore over a tan long sleeve t-shirt, as well as the handgun that sat in a holster on his hip.

Kneeling on the center console, he stretched one paw out and took the adult’s limp one in it.  He did not expect anything to happen, but simply wanted to feel the paw of one of his kind.  It reminded him of home.

Eventually the fennec decided that he could not stay put.  Looking outside, he could see nothing but a lonely stretch of road with a field on one side, and endless pine trees on the other.  The sun was barely visible through rapidly moving clouds overhead, and there was a distinct scent of approaching rain floating in through the shattered window.  Making up his mind, he pushed his door open and hopped down onto the grass, and then he climbed up the ditch to the road. 

The fennec looked left and right.  To his right, in the direction the car had been headed, a distant cluster of skyscrapers was visible.  To his left was nothing but an empty, endless stretch of road.  Turning towards the skyscrapers, the fennec took a deep breath and began to walk.

The grey sky above cast a dull aura over the lone child as he walked along the highway lined by pine trees and suburban houses.  Bright, colorful flowers grew amidst the austere, brambly grass that he wandered through on calloused and cut footpaws.  His fur was still caked in blood even after the rain had stopped, and he could not remember the last time he had eaten.   

The rushing sound of an approaching car caused the little mammal’s ears to prick up, then immediately droop again when the vehicle simply sped past him.  As he watched it grow increasingly smaller, the fennec realized how completely alone he was.  He had no idea how long he had walked, or where he was.  This was the whole world to him.

Night had taken over.  He had followed the streetlights from the road to more suburbs, and deeper into a terrible state of loneliness.  Feeling completely devoid of hope, the fennec sat down at the foot of a tree and wondered what it would be like to die.  Looking out at the suburban park he had wandered into, he saw no one.  

At that moment he gave up completely.  Burying his face in his knees like he had in the kitchen, he silently cried for home.

Footsteps crunched on dead leaves.  It was morning, and there was a distinct layer of frost on the ground and on his sweater.  When he looked up, a kind-eyed, red-furred stranger was crouching in front of him.  The fennec stared back for a moment in confusion.  No one had ever approached him unless they wanted to hurt him.

Suddenly, he was a year older.

A five year old fennec was desperately trying to keep up with a pair of older children, who were jogging ahead through a snowy field as if he were not there.  He was healthier now, and his headfur was shorter and clean, but still poked out from under the thick beanie he wore.  

He stumbled in the snow, and watched dejectedly from the ground as the older children continued on without so much as a glance back at him.  One of them was a young red fox.

Thick, tan-hued smoke replaced the wide open expanse.  The two older children disappeared into the billowing clouds, still unware they had left the fennec behind.  He stood up and resolutely attempted to run after them, and as he did, he noticed that his footpaws were impacting dusty, ash-choked ground instead of snow.

The two children were nowhere to be seen.  The fennec shouted the red fox’s name in desperation, but his voice echoed pointlessly into space.  Sand was whipping his fur like a thousand tiny needles, and the sun overhead was blood red, staring down at him like a father looks at a delinquent son.

He took one more firm step forward, and the ground gave way.

The world erupted into a maelstrom of wind and fire.  Brilliant lights were flashing all around.  Someone was screaming for help. 

He was falling, and instead of impacting the ground, it gave way a second time.  He fell through the same sky, and back again through the same ground.  With a strangled cry, he finally hit the ground with such a tremendous, backbreaking force that he finally awoke.

 

~<{0}>~

 Finnick’s eyes snapped open.

The gentle hum of the road beneath him lulled him back into consciousness.  His heart was thudding in his chest, and he was numb all over.  For a moment, he felt like he was pinned to the soft surface that he was resting on as if he had lay there for an eternity, and could still feel himself falling through the ground again, and again. 

Finnick stared around, feeling confused as he took stock of his surroundings.  He was curled up in the backseat of a car, and wrapped tightly in a black hoodie.  It was nearly midnight, and the streetlights of a nearby truck stop were filtering inside the cabin as they passed by it on the interstate.  He could hear Judy’s soft breathing in the seat in front of him, who was still sleeping soundly.

Sleet was falling outside.  It was not quite cold enough for snow, but the temperature had plummeted so much over the last few days that snow was inevitable.  The wind chill was enough to made being outdoors for any length of time a feat of endurance.

When Finnick sat up slightly, he found that he could not move his right arm at all.  It was completely numb from the side of his muzzle having rested on it like that for three hours.  It was only now did he notice how much his head was throbbing, and how every nerve and joint ached like he had the flu. 

He attempted to stretch his limbs out, but was met with an excruciating cramp in one of his calf muscles that caused him to involuntarily grab hold of it.  As he did, he let out a quiet, agonized gasp.

Finnick then caught sight of Nick’s concerned eyes in the rear view mirror, and quickly looked away, burning with embarrassment.

“You alright back there, bud?”  Nick’s soothing baritone came from the driver’s seat.

Finnick sighed and nodded slowly.  Looking out the window, he could see an open field with a playground on the opposite side, starkly visible in the abundant streetlights that lined the road that ran alongside it.  The whole scene was eerily familiar. 

“What’s on your mind?”  Nick asked again.  Finnick wearily turned his gaze back up to Nick, silently deciding how to answer.

“I’m fine.”  Finnick said at last.  It was all he could come up with, even though he knew it was nothing close to the truth.

“Jus’ keep thinking about…”

His voice trailed off, and a pained, haunted look of guilt briefly flashed in his eyes.

Nick did not answer immediately, but there was no need to.  What was understood did not need to be said.

He continued watching him with a concerned expression for a moment as Finnick yawned and shifted in his seat, positioning himself so that he was curled up against the window.

“Do you feel like talking about it?”  Nick asked compassionately.  Finnick shook his head.

“Not really,” He replied, his voice somewhat quiet, “maybe later.”

This was not the right time.  He did not want to open any wounds now.

“Hang in there, buddy,” Nick said encouragingly, “only an hour or so left.” 

A distant cluster of lights could be faintly seen in the distance ahead of them.

Nick wished he could think of something else to say, but decided not to press the issue.  Not until Finnick was ready.  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again awkwardly.

Finnick smiled weakly in response, silently understanding Nick’s concern.  He reached into a backpack on the seat beside him, where he fished out a plastic water bottle and a small, orange container full of pills.

He hated the sight of those pills.  They made him feel fragile, because he knew he depended on them.

They reminded him of the worst moments of his life. 

After guzzling generously from the bottle, he looked down reluctantly at the medicine like he wanted nothing more than to throw it out the window.  With shaking fingers, he unscrewed the top and emptied two tablets into his scarred and calloused palm, which he then transferred to his mouth.

Once the water and pill bottles were back in the backpack, Finnick curled up against the seat like before.  Leaning his head back, he simply stared out into the passing interstate.

His head was swimming now, instead of throbbing.   It could be the effect of the medicine, or just his injury, but at least the dizziness was comfortable this time.  Usually it made him nauseous.

The streetlights whizzing by began seemed to have a hypnotic effect, and his eyelids began to grow heavy again.  Before long, Finnick had been lulled into a gentle doze, his fears and insecurities momentarily numbed.  He occasionally cracked his eyes open slightly, but instantly felt a gentle wave of fatigue roll over him each time.  He finally fell completely asleep again, his breathing falling in rhythm with Judy’s. 

Nick watched him through the mirror, and felt a pang of longing.  He wished he could see more of Finnick’s old self, instead of the strangely subdued personality that he exhibited lately.  His newfound politeness would normally have been a positive change, but he had also been so shy and quiet that Nick could not help but worry.  The new Finnick was usually restless and full of energy.  Not lately.

It had been two full years since he had watched Finnick return home on the edge of death.  Two years’ worth of therapy had helped him recover to the point that he could work again, but he was not the same mammal that Nick had grown up knowing.  A single, horrible moment had taken that away.      

Sighing, Nick put it out of his mind, and he glanced at the sleeping form of Judy next to him.  A pink and red plaid blanket was draped over her, and her head was slumped to her left on the corner of her reclined seat.  Nick extended his right arm out, and gently began stroking the soft, silky fur of her cheek.  Judy stirred slightly and her breathing became erratic as she felt her lover’s fingers touch her skin, but remained sleeping while Nick caressed her.

As Nick withdrew his paw, a song that had been stuck in his head for years started playing loudly in his mind.  It was a simple, soft jazz melody that instantly gave Nick a heavy wave of nostalgia, having first heard it as a child on a road trip with his parents and newly adopted little brother.

Finnick shifted in his seat, letting out a bleary half-moan in his sleep.  In the glow of the streetlights, he looked to Nick like a kid again.  The youthful features just seemed so unusually relaxed, like a child who had passed out in the back seat of his parent’s car.

The gentle hum of the road took over, and feeling significantly more at peace, Nick looked ahead towards the distant sea of lights.  

Ten minutes later, Finnick stirred again, and his eyes opened.  A sudden realization struck him, and he quietly mulled over how he was going to break the news.

"Hey, Nick?"  he asked, attempting to hide the desperation in his voice.  

Nick glanced back into the mirror,  "What's up, Fin?"

A subtle smirk formed on Finnick's lips, and he began bouncing his leg on the seat.  Nick's brow furrowed in mock annoyance.

"Don't tell me you..."  He began, his voice low and foreboding.

Upon seeing the way Nick was eyeing his little brother suspiciously, Finnick's features broke into a familiar playful smile.

"Yep...I gotta piss."


	2. Still Breathing

The sound of the car's blinker being flicked on caused Judy to stir under her blanket.  Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared at Nick expressionlessly.  He looked like he was about to fall asleep at the wheel.

"How long have I been asleep?"  She asked, her face partially obscured by the blanket.  

"A few hours,"  Nick replied,  "Fin passed out right after you."

He stifled a yawn of his own as Judy settled back into her seat and pulled the blanket back over her shoulders. 

“Drink more coffee.”  She said, noticing the exhaustion in her husband's eyes.   

Nick sighed wearily as he flicked on his blinker to take an exit that would lead them towards a rest stop. “I’m on my ninth Tiger Blood, carrots.” 

“Drink more coffee,” Judy repeated, her tone simultaneously firm and joking,  “or I’m driving.”

“Are you offering?”  Nick said, a smirk forming on his muzzle.  Judy smiled back, deciding that she was fully awake now.

“I’m offering to not let you crash the car.”   She said as she stretched her paws out in front of her.

“We’ll switch after we hit the rest stop.”  Nick replied as he slowed the car down towards the brightly lit facility, which was devoid of any other vehicles.  Judy picked her phone up off the center console and checked it for a moment, then set it back down while Nick brought the car into a parking space.  

She pushed the blanket down off her lap,  "I might take a head call, too.  Should we wake the baby?”

“The baby’s already awake,” Finnick said in his characteristic tone, and hopped out into the frigid January air.  He donned a faded, red and black striped beanie, then stuffed his paws into his hoodie pocket and started down the paved walkway that lead to the male's restrooms.

Nick watched his black-tipped tail swishing as he went, then opened his own door and stepped outside to stretch his legs.  When he looked around, he sensed an unnatural quietness about their surroundings.  The rest area was completely empty, and was surrounded by thick pine trees behind it.  A small billboard directly in front of their parking space was covered in photos of missing mammals, some of them children.  The entire facility appeared well taken care of.  It looked new, and like someone had paid a small fortune to keep the bushes that lined the walkway neatly trimmed, and the grass cut.   Nonetheless, it still held an unmistakably eerie vibe.  

Like always, Judy seemed to read his mind.  

"Fin really should've waited."  She said, hiding her apprehension as she pushed her door open, and joined Nick outside.  This was no place to linger.  Not at this time of night.

Nick nodded and stuffed his paws into the pockets of his leather jacket.  He could feel the grip of his 1911 in its holster beneath the fabric.

Keeping his eyes on the door to the male's restroom, about thirty yards away,  Nick waited, growing more worried by the second,  

"If he doesn't come out soon, I'm gonna go looking for him."

"I'll go check on him now."  Judy piped up, "hold down the fort."

"I'll be waiting patiently."  Nick replied.

She strode up the walkway, her paws in the pockets of her downy jacket, and eyes scanning for anything out of place.  Nick looked back up at the interstate.  Not a single car had passed by since they had parked here. Come to think of it, he had not seen another vehicle in hours.  Not even a state police cruiser.

He could not place it, and it could just be some primal instinct being misled, but Nick could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

 

-~x0x~- 

 

The bathroom was one long room with urinals and stalls along the beige tile wall to the right of the door.  Finnick made his way to one of the shorter ones, built for mammals of his height.

Trembling slightly, he breathed a sigh of relief as he allowed the tension to flow out of his body.   Graffiti covered the wall in front of him, and he read one of the inscriptions, scrawled in sharpie.

**_You thought you got away, didn’t you?_ ** ****

It was only as Finnick was zipping up his jeans when he realized that the ink seemed fresh, and was shining as if someone had only just written the line.  He paused after flushing, his brow furrowed at the eerily new inscription.

A sudden prickling sensation crept up Finnick’s neck, and his fur stood on end.  He spun around, one paw clasping the karambit inside his right jean pocket, senses instantly primed for a fight.

The bathroom was empty as ever.  Only the rushing sound of the urinal he had just flushed could be heard, and no one was in the stalls.

Finnick narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and began scanning the expansive bathroom.  He could not shake the feeling of being watched.  His eyes fell on the small window up close to the ceiling, which was pitch black except for one tiny smudge. 

_A pawprint?_

It didn’t appear to be anything more than a scratch on the glass.

_Or the fog from someone’s breath…_

Nonetheless, Finnick was beginning to feel a familiar sense of apprehension.  Not paralyzing fear, but heightened awareness that told him something was not right.  He pulled the karambit out of his jean pocket and flicked it open.  He had made this knife himself years ago, and turned it into a fearsome piece of hardware.  The blade was high-carbon Damascus steel, and the on the end of the handle was jagged point for breaking both windows and bones.

Gripping the knife underhanded, Finnick made his way along the bathroom, throwing open stall door after stall door. A small mammal, like a rodent, could easily hide in a place like this.  He clasped the karambit like the paw of an old friend, his instincts and muscle memory itching to take over and stab the life out of someone.

The bathroom was still empty.  Deciding not to keep Nick and Judy waiting any longer, Finnick walked to the door, his ears swiveling left and right, still listening intently for any movement.  The second his paw touched the door handle, footsteps echoed loud and clear behind him.  Not bothering to stay and allow himself to be cornered in a strange bathroom, Finnick threw the door open and sprinted outside as fast as he could go, where he immediately collided with Judy's midsection.  

“There you are!”  Judy exclaimed with a light chuckle.  Finnick stepped back from her, slightly embarrassed in spite of his pounding heart.  Her amethyst eyes fell on the karambit in Finnick's paw.  He quickly folded it and paced it back in his pocket.  

"Why do you have that out?"  She asked suspiciously.   

“Let’s go.”  He said a little too quickly.  Judy narrowed her eyes in concern, noticing the trepidation in Finnick’s voice and posture.

“Fin, what’s wrong?”   She said as they walked back towards the idling car, where Nick sat waiting. 

Finnick was walking with a sense of urgency, and valiantly fought the urge to look over his shoulder.  If there was anyone or anything there, Nick or Judy would have noticed it by now. 

“This place is creeping me out, Jude.”  He said, hoping he sounded casual enough.  Judy raised her eyebrows, but said nothing in reply. 

They reached the car, and Finnick clambered into the backseat again, where he buckled his seatbelt and kept his gaze forward.  Nick shut his door and pulled the blanket up over his legs as Judy put the car in gear and drove away from the rest area. 

“Got it all, Fin?”  Nick asked with a hint of humor, taking a sip from a can of cold coffee.  Finnick nodded. 

“Let’s go.”  He answered for the second time.  The graffiti was still lingering in his mind.  It was so fresh, and recent. 

As they approached the interstate again, Finnick stretched his neck out, resolving to put what had just happened out of his mind.  Even as he did, his eyes fell on the rest area they had just departed, and his blood froze. 

In the final two seconds before the facility disappeared from view, Finnick saw a lone figure standing outside the bathroom, a dark silhouette under the lights.  It was watching them leave, still as a statue.

Suddenly, they were back on the interstate, and the trees blocked the rest area from view.  Finnick sat motionless, his heart pounding so loudly he was astounded that Nick and Judy had not commented on it.

He had been warned about hallucinations, and that his medication had been known to cause them if overdosed on.  But he  _hadn't_ overdosed.  There was no way.  He would forget to take every pill he was prescribed if Nick was not constantly reminding him.  The bathroom had been empty.  That was that.

Maybe there was something else wrong with him, like some other TBI symptom that he was only starting to develop.  If not, who would go to all that trouble, and time everything just right to threaten and kill him in a random rest area so far from Zootopia?  How would they know?  Were they being watched right this second somehow?

As Finnick's mind ran in circles, trying to come up with some sort of answer, an ancient memory crept in.  A hooded and masked figure, dodging between buildings, hopping from rooftop to rooftop.  His eyes, so dark and full of hate that Finnick could feel them on him even through the mask.  A Kalashnikov was pointed directly at Finnick's head.  He was cornered.  The figure lowered his weapon and pointed a gloved paw directly at him, speaking without saying a word.

Finnick blinked and he was gone.

No.  It could not be him.  That was eight years ago.  On the other side of the world.  He was only an elusive assassin that had preyed on them for months on end.  Just an elusive assassin that seemed to  _recognize_ him.

Nope.  The bathroom was empty.  He had hallucinated.  That was that.

 

 -~x0x~-

 

"Nick...Nick, wake up."

Blurred shapes spun in circles around Nick, all of them vaguely resembling various cartoon characters from the 90's.  He had no intention of waking up.  It was too comfy here, in this unconscious womb.  He wished Judy would just go back through that plaid door in the sky and leave him alone for another four hours or so.

"We're home, Nick."  Judy's exhausted voice came again.  A frigid blast of air hit him like a freight train, and Nick was abruptly jolted back to reality.  Judy stood outside with the door open, slipping a purple beanie over her ears.  

"Let's go, sleepybutts."  She said sweetly as she popped the trunk and heaved out a pair of duffel bags.  

Nick groggily shed the blanket and picked up his phone to check the time.  It was one in the morning.  They were in the parking lot of a sprawling apartment complex in Savannah Central.  The brilliantly lit towers of downtown stood out like lanterns in the sky to their right, and the sounds and sirens of Zootopia at night filled the air.  

Groaning reluctantly, Nick stepped outside and accepted his duffel bag from Judy.  Finnick stood off to the side, his backpack over one shoulder, forlornly watching the light from a ZPD helicopter circle the skyscrapers.  He felt Nick's paw pat him twice on the shoulder.  

"C'mon big guy,"  Nick said sleepily.  "I know you're as tired as I am."

Finnick's golden-brown eyes glowed strangely in the streetlights around them.  He looked more exhausted than Nick had ever seen anyone, like he had lived three hundred years in the the span of thirty.

"Hey,"  Nick said for the second time that night, "you okay?"

Finnick looked up at the mammal he owed his life to.  Nick knew him so well.

He opened his mouth to speak, but saw Judy waiting by an outdoor staircase to the upper floors of the building.  

"Jus' tired."  Finnick said, then started off towards Judy.

 He and Nick walked towards the staircase together.  Judy went on ahead of them, and they followed her up the stairs and down a hallway to Nick and Judy's apartment.

 

 -~x0x~-

 

The apartment was small, yet spacious.  It had one bedroom, two bathrooms, and the front door opened into a decently sized carpeted living room with a couch, coffee table, TV, a bookcase, and several framed pictures on the wall.  Directly to the left of the door, was a small kitchen with a pile of mail on the counter.   Across the living room, a sliding door opened up to a balcony with a terrific view of the Zootopia skyline.

Nick immediately disappeared into the bathroom, while Judy removed her jacket and hung it on a hook by the door.  She was watching Finnick closely, still troubled by his behavior at the rest area.  Finnick sat down on the couch next to a folded blanket and pillow, and tugged his grey t-shirt off.  His powerfully muscular upper body was covered in tattoos and numerous visible scars.

Deciding that now was a good time to ask, Judy approached the couch and sat down next to him.  Finnick leaned forward and let his face rest in his palms.  His head was beginning to ache again.

"Fin?"  Judy inquired quietly, not wanting to startle or annoy him.  Finnick picked his head up and looked at her, reading his brother's wife's expression.  She was on to him.

"I'm not stupid, Fin,"  She began.  "what happened at the rest stop?"  

 _Dammit_  

Finnick decided he had no other choice but to tell her.  Judy of all mammals would understand.

"I thought someone was in there with me."  Finnick replied, his eyes meeting hers.  Judy could read the honesty in them, but did not answer, sensing that Finnick had more to say.

"I checked that whole bathroom, but it was empty.  Right before I ran out, I heard footsteps behind me,"  Finnick continued, not taking his eyes off of hers,  "and as we were driving away, I looked back and saw someone standing outside the bathroom...watching us go."

He finished the sentence, and paused to let Judy absorb what he had just said.  She stared intently at him for a moment before responding.

"What did he look like?"  She asked, thinking of numerous wanted mammals and active serial killers she had been familiarized with from being a Zootopia police officer.

Finnick shook his head, "All I could see was a sillouette.  It was tall, and I couldn't see any ears, so he must've had a hood on."

He paused again, remembering the graffiti,  "There was something written on the wall in front of the urinal, too.  Only just written."

Judy's eyes narrowed.  That sounded familiar.  

"What did it say?"  She asked, her voice low.  Finnick's reached his right paw behind him, and scratched at the fur on his lower back.  Judy saw that he was scratching at an old tattoo of a dragonfly, which was crudely done as if the artist had been drunk.  She had seen him scratch at that tattoo before.  

" _You thought you could get away, didn't you_."  Finnick said slowly, turning his head to stare out the window at the skyline.  The inscription was the only part of the whole incident that he could not have imagined, which unsettled him.

Judy was about to say something else, when Nick's bare arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders from behind the couch, and she felt Nick's lips on the crown of her head.

"I'm ready for bed, carrots.  How about you?"  He said, resting his head on the back of the sofa next to Judy's ears.

 _We'll talk tomorrow._ Judy mouthed at Finnick, who was settling under his blanket and adjusting the pillow against the velvety armrest.  Nick turned his gaze to Finnick as Judy stood up and made her way around the couch to the bathroom.

"I'm not kissing you goodnight until you take a shower."  He said to Finnick with a smirk.

"You're not kissing me goodnight at all, buddy boy,"  Finnick laughed softly in reply, another hint of his old sense of humor returning,  "we both know how drunk we had to be for that to happen only once."

" _Excuse_ _me_?"  Judy exclaimed loudly from the bathroom door, a toothbrush sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

"A story for another time, carrots."  Nick called back, laughing quietly.  He turned back to Finnick, "so what have you got going on tomorrow?"

Finnick leaned his head back against the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling with his arms folded across the blanket.  

"Goin' to class at eleven, then a doctors appointment at four,"  He answered with an air of resignation,  "might get a workout in with Ronny and some other guys from the shop."

"When's the semester end?"  Nick asked, perching on the opposite armrest, clad only in boxers.

"On the nineteenth of May,"  Finnick replied,  "not soon enough."

Judy appeared wearing a long, lavender shirt that fell to her knees.  Nick got up from the armrest and walked over to her, and held his paw out to the light switch, but hesitated to turn it off.

"Goodnight, big guy."  He said as if he were speaking to a kid in a cradle.  

Finnick just glared back, but with a slight smile, "Just turn the light off, Nick."

"I love you too."  Nick answered charmingly, smirking as he flicked the light off and walked into his and Judy's bedroom.  Judy stayed a moment longer.

"Goodnight, Fin."  She said, chuckling lightly at Nick and Finnick's interaction.  

The fennec closed his eyes and rolled over on his side, letting his weight settle into the fabric of the cushions.  That was one of the perks about living with Nick again.  Judy's voice was the most soothing thing he had heard in years.  He had once stayed awake to listen to her read a stack of novels to Nick one night when he was sick, just to hear her talk.  

"G'night, Jude."  He said, and she followed Nick into their room.

 

 -~x0x~-

 

Once Judy had closed the door, she saw Nick sitting up in the queen sized bed with his back against the headboard, a thick photo album in his lap.  She crawled across the covers towards him, and settled down under them, snuggling in close to his body heat.

"What's that you've got there?"  She inquired as Nick slipped an arm around her shoulders and held her close.

"My mom's plan to embarrass me,"  Nick said, flipping through the thick pages, "Granddad had her give this to me before we left today."

Judy ran her paw up and down Nick's bare leg, feeling the silky fur and hard muscle beneath her fingers.  She caught sight of an old black and white photo of Nick's grandfather as a teenager, proudly leaning on a motorcycle he had put together himself.  Jackson Wilde was a solid, lithe young mammal at sixteen, only two years away from enthusiastically enlisting in the Marine Corps like his father before him.

"I loved your family so much, Nick."  Judy said, studying the image.  After meeting Jackson for the first time, she had instantly fallen in love with the feisty, yet caring head of Nick's extended family.

"I have to say, though,"  She continued, "I never in all my life thought I would be spending the holidays with two dozen foxes."

Nick chuckled warmly, "They're hard to round up at the best of times, carrots.  I can only handle so much of them for so long, though."

"They sure were a noisy bunch."  Judy thought out loud, remembering a particularly energetic family of Nick's cousins, who had no less than six young children under the age of ten.  Nick turned the page a couple more times, passing more images of Jackson's youth.  

“Hold on a sec.”  Judy interjected, taking the page from Nick and turning it back.  

“Is that…Finnick?”  She asked, an endearing smile forming on her muzzle.

She was pointing at an old photograph of two young foxes.  One was clearly Nick, who looked to be about seven or eight, and the other, whom Judy could only assume was Finnick, was slightly younger.  They were arm in arm and up close to the camera on a grassy hill, with the Zootopia skyline looming in the brilliant sunset behind them.  Finnick had let his headfur grow out, and his bangs nearly covered his eyes.  Both kids were smiling and laughing out loud, giving Nick a powerful wave of nostalgia as he stared at the two of them, young and unmarred by the hard lessons and realities of the world.

For a moment Judy felt as though she would melt right through the bedsheets just looking at the picture, and she let out a soft squeal of delight that caused Nick to raise an eyebrow.

“Carrots…we were kids.”  He said flatly, attempted to stem the flow of giggles coming from Judy, who was blushing furiously and trying valiantly to control herself. 

“Awww…”  She gasped out.  “You two are  _adorable_!”

Nick studied the image for a moment, then flipped the page over to see another photograph, this one of a six year old Finnick standing the back porch of their grandparent's house, having just come inside from the rain.  He had a towel wrapped around his shoulders, and was shivering and smiling up at the camera with bright, golden brown eyes.  

“Oh, Finnick…”  He murmured, suddenly caught up in a rush of memories.  “…you little goofball.”

He flipped the pages a few more times, coming across more images from his and Finnick's childhood.

"I'm worried about him."  Nick finally said, his voice low.

Judy felt a rush of concern, remembering her conversation with Finnick.  She had noticed his change in demeanor as well.  He had been working hard, taking college classes, and resolutely staying in shape in spite of his medical condition, but had been unmistakably quiet even towards her recently.

Nick picked his phone up from where it sat on the bedside table on its charger.  It was two in the morning now.

"We should get to sleep."  He said, closing the photo album and setting next to his phone.  

Judy nodded and yawned, "At least we're on the night shift tomorrow."

Nick turned off the lamp on the bedside table, and settled into Judy's embrace, thankful to finally be home after a chaotic and eventful few days.

 

-~x0x~-

 

Finnick lay motionless on the soft surface of Nick's couch.  He had taken some headache pills not long after Nick and Judy had gone to sleep, which had marginally reduced the sensation of a vice gripping his temple.  Still, he felt uneasy, and could not sleep.  The flashing light on the smoke detector overhead captured his attention, and with every flash, it initiated another memory.

The same emotions he had felt that night poured through him as he lay on the soft, comforting surface.  Nervous excitement turned to calm focus, which then turned to savage, boiling rage, then bitter frustration, which finally crashed all the way down into miserable dejection.  Icy terror began clawing at his insides, and a bead of sweat rolled down the fur on his forehead.

He was falling again, like in his nightmare earlier.  This time, it was a real memory, and he the ground did not give way.  He was a bloody, battered mess, and bullets were ripping into his flesh.  Someone fell next to him, and the last thing he saw before he had lost consciousness was the lifeless face of his leader.  

 _I don't love you anymore,_   A feminine voice echoed in his mind,  _Why can't you stay home and be a dad for once in your life?  You married me, not the Marine Corps.  You promised to be Lucy's new daddy, and you're breaking that promise._

He was staring up into the dim light of an operation room.  Everything was blurry, and he felt like he was floating through time and space.  Suddenly, terrible horror and helpless fear gripped him.  Invisible, icy paws were grabbing every inch of his skin and fur, trying to drag him into the void.  He screamed for her, and she came running.  She held him like a baby, shushing him while he sobbed into her shoulder, clinging to his only lifeline.  

 _I can't help you.  You're a mess_ _.  You can barely walk, you're sick all the time, and you're going to be stuck like that for the rest of your life.  My daughter deserves a better life than one spent taking care of her fucked up stepdad.  You did this to yourself.  This is your fault.  You should have died with Caleb._

Another voice floated in, more compassionate, but bent with sorrow.

_They didn't make it.  That semi truck just lost control on the ice and that was it.  I'm sorry._

Finnick was standing in front of a pair of headstones, his heart colder than the air around him.  They did not deserve to die, and he did not deserve to live.  His paw trembled on the cane he leaned on, but his eyes were dry.   He would never cry again.

A red-furred paw slipped over his shoulders.  Finnick leaned into Nick's side for warmth, and to feel the heartbeat of someone who cared.

 _Thank you_ he had said to Nick.   _Thank you for being you._

Finnick could faintly hear Nick and Judy breathing in the room on the other side of the wall, and the hum of traffic outside.  His paws began kneading the fabric beneath him, still watching the smoke detector light.

His stomach lurched.  Finnick sat up.  The silence was deafening.  His stomach lurched again.

Heeding the warning, Finnick threw himself upright and onto numb footpaws that carried him across the apartment and into the bathroom.

The cold tile sent shivers up Finnick’s spine as he staggered through the nearly pitch dark bathroom, illuminated only slightly by the orange glow of a streetlight that filtered in through a tiny window above the shower. 

He practically collided with the toilet in his desperation to reach it in time.  Gripping the rim so tightly his claws scratched the paint, Finnick stared into nothing at all and willed himself not to vomit.  For what felt like an eternity, he simply hovered there with his stomach on the verge of emptying itself. 

Eventually Finnick’s shivering subsided, and his heart rate began to slow down.  Still trembling, he relinquished his death grip on the rim and limped to the stepstool that was positioned in front of the sink for him.  Finnick’s shaking footpaws nearly gave way, and he leaned on the freezing countertop to steady himself before looking up to face his reflection, strangely vivid in the dim light.

An exhausted, terrifying mammal stared back at him through weary eyes.  Despite being only twenty-nine years old, the vibrant youthfulness he once had was all but gone.  Only a cold look of restless anger remained.

As Finnick watched himself in the mirror, a lump began to form in his throat.  Nights like these were common, when he could not sleep and was alone with only his worst memories.  Every mammal he had ever hurt, betrayed, or let down stood out clear in his mind.  He thought of Nick, and a pang of guilt stabbed him in the chest. 

The most loyal mammal he had ever known had his own life now.  Finnick felt like he was infringing on it, but still continued to be amazed at how selflessly Nick had helped him. 

Finnick’s breath was starting to fog up the mirror as he turned on the faucet, allowing the freezing water to run over his sore, calloused, and scarred paws.  He finally took his gaze off his reflection to splash water over his muzzle for a moment, but instead of drying it off, he closed his eyes and let the water drip off his fur and into the drain with small, intermittent splashes that echoed loudly in the bathroom.

Negative thoughts ran unchecked in his head.  He bitterly began wondering if he would ever feel okay again, and if anyone really cared about him at all.  Did Nick really care? He could just be doing this to make himself feel better.  Maybe Nick was fed up with his little brother’s problems, and just wanted him out of his life.  Maybe it was all an illusion.  Maybe he was not real.   

Finally, Finnick was able to slow the wave of negativity enough to chide himself severely for allowing that kind of mindset to run free.  Ronny would kick his ass for sure, if he saw him so full of self-pity.

Finnick knew the prime of his life was over. He dried his muzzle off with the towel that hung from a ring to his left, and looked back up into the golden-brown eyes of his reflection.

The gruff, granite-like voice of an old friend spoke in Finnick’s mind, as if he were right next to him.

_You’re still breathing._

The golden-brown eyes seemed to glow a little brighter.  Finnick inhaled, not deeply, but just enough to hear and feel the air moving through his throat and chest.

_I’m still breathing._

Fatigue hit Finnick like a truck.  Feeling as though he weighed a hundred extra pounds, he got down from the stepstool and slumped down against the wall, completely drained of energy.  A rustling noise from the other side of the slightly open door caused Finnick’s ears to prick up instinctively.

He blearily looked up, and heard the rushing sound of water filling up a glass.  Finnick simply stared at the door with his eyes half-mast.  Several seconds later, it creaked open and the bathroom suddenly burst into brilliant light, causing Finnick to flinch and let out an audible gasp. 

With a jolt of annoyance, he blinked and realized that his face was streaked with tears.   Hastily wiping them with the back of his right paw, he hoped that Nick would be too tired to notice that particular detail.

Nick knelt down beside him, and took Finnick's head in his paws.  He simply held him like that for several seconds, and Finnick quickly gave into Nick's gesture.  

Placing one paw on Finnick’s forehead, and the other on the back of his neck, Nick felt for any unnatural heat underneath the smooth, silky fur.  Sensing none, he instead began massaging Finnick’s aching temple with his fingers.  To Nick’s relief, this elicited a subtle groan of appreciation from the fennec’s throat. 

Finnick’s muscles tensed briefly and he felt an intense heat flare up within him, but an instant later felt himself start to relax, something the hard-edged mammal typically struggled at.  The combined noise of the falling snow outside and the gentle hum of the heater became a powerful sedative, and before he knew it, Finnick was floating in and out of consciousness, completely at ease.  His head nodded gently with the motion of Nick’s fingers as they soothed it, wishing it would never stop.

Sensing Finnick's relaxation, Nick moved one paw to his back, and Finnick allowed himself to be slowly guided back up onto his footpaws, and then led out of the bathroom.  Feeling like he was walking on water through a thick fog, Finnick laid back down onto the sofa, where he breathed a sigh of gratitude as Nick pulled the covers back over him.

Nick smiled and patted Finnick’s shoulder affectionately, “You’re gonna be okay, buddy.”

“Mm-hmm.”  Came the muffled reply. 

Nick remained kneeling, his paws still holding Finnick as he drifted off to sleep.  Once again, he looked so peaceful, a sharp contrast to his typically hard-edged personality.  His heart seemed to beat more calmly than usual under Nick’s paw, the same heart that once beat in the chest of a vibrant, happy young fennec.

Finnick began murmuring fitfully, and his brow was furrowed.  Even in sleep, he was in pain.

"When are you going to be happy, Fin?"  Nick whispered.  All he wanted was to see the light return to his eyes, and for the fennec he had known almost his whole life to be himself again.  

A siren echoed in the distance, and Nick's gaze was drawn up to the towering skyline outside.  The rush of traffic turned into wind, and the bright towers turned to grey ones in the distance.

He was a kid again, skipping down a sidewalk one cold December day, twenty-five years ago.


	3. Beyond the Sea

A sudden rush of pain shot though Nick's side.  He could not see anything, and every breath was warm like he was in a sauna.   Judy's knee was digging into his ribs, and when he pulled her lavender shirt off of his head, he saw his wife sprawled out on top of him, clad only in underwear.  

Right as Nick was starting to wrap his head around the complexities of double-layered dreams, Judy murmured in her sleep, promptly bringing her other knee in a swift upward motion that landed directly between his legs.

Nick's eyes went wide as saucers, and he bit his lip hard to quiet the shrill squeal that almost escaped.  Carefully, he scooted out from underneath Judy's weight and hopped down off the mattress, still wincing from the pain that shot through his wedding tackle.  Once he had opened the door and limped out into the living room, he made his way towards the couch where Finnick lay sleeping.

Nick stopped at the foot of the sofa, and sighed wistfully as he watched his little brother's rising and falling chest.   _If only he could sleep this well all the time._

There was something nagging at Nick's mind, something that he could not place his finger on.  Ever since the first night Finnick had spent in his family, he had wondered where Finnick had come from, and who his birth family was.  There had been no trace of him anywhere, and no record of him having a name, and that was why the Wilde family had been allowed to adopt him.

Sitting carefully down on the edge of the couch by Finnick's footpaws, questions circled Nick's mind that had only vaguely crossed it before.  Even on the day they had met, he had pondered these same questions.  At the time, it mattered little.  All that was important to him and his family was that the homeless infant was getting a new life with them.

He could still hear his mother's tired voice, desperately trying to calm her newly adopted son down.

_He's just having a night terror, Julian.  Poor guy can't wake up.  He keeps staring around like he's seeing things..._

Nick shuffled back to his bedroom, but left the door open this time. He crawled back onto the mattress where Judy was still sprawled out like she was making a snow angel, and pushed her extended limps aside. The blankets were still crumbled up on the edge of the bed, which Nick picked up and spread out over them both. He took great care this time to make sure her legs were both on the other side of his own before settling back into the sheets with her.

The second Nick had begun to relax again, a sudden buzzing noise caused him to jump slightly, and he picked his head up.  A dragonfly was sitting on the windowsill outside, its wings fluttering in the falling snow as if it were flying.  Nick stared at the insect, and somewhere deep in his subconscious, a strange memory floated up.

_Dragonflies..._

It seemed stare in at him, contemplating him.

_Dragonflies were grabbing me..._

Nick thought of Finnick's tattoo.  That little marking had been on his lower back since before Nick had met him.  The one time he had had ever asked him about it, Finnick simply replied that all he remembered was a lot of burning and itching on his back, but nothing more.

Nick put his head back down and pulled Judy closer.   _Someday,_ he thought, s _omeday, somehow, somewhere._

On the road that ran past the apartment complex, a grey pickup truck drove by, soft jazz floating out of the open windows.

 

~<{0}>~

 

Water spat from the showerhead on to Finnick's chest.  He shuddered and darted out from under the stream, taking advantage of his small stature to hide where the freezing water could not touch him.  Carefully, he adjusted the temperature while keeping one paw wet, waiting for a tolerable level of warmth.  Eventually, it evened out, and Finnick stepped back out under the water.  He shuddered again, but not from the cold this time.  The warm water felt simply amazing on his aching back.  It was almost as if he had never broken it.

Finnick allowed himself a moment to sit on the shower floor, with his back to the tile wall, and the water running over his tail and legs.  The gnarled mark of a long-healed bullet wound stood out on his upper thigh, as did a jagged white scar that was spread out across his leg from the knee to the hip.  He picked up his limp, wet tail and began absently playing with it while he reflected on the events of the last few days.

Despite not being his biological relatives, Nick's family had always regarded Finnick as one of their own.  There had never been an instance where Finnick felt like an outsider, or like he was somehow unappreciated.  This year in particular had reawakened an unspoken desire of Finnick's, one that he had long abandoned.  One of Nick's cousins, the five-year-old daughter of their mother's sister's son, took a liking to him, and even insisted on curling up in his lap in the evenings.  There was just something about her that made Finnick want to be a dad again.  She had made him feel like life was worth living.

Deciding not to waste anymore water, Finnick stood back up under the stream.  Pausing only to scratch at the dragonfly tattoo on his lower back, he knelt and picked up a shampoo bottle off the floor.  When he popped the lid open, the scent instantly flooded Finnick's mind with memories.  

He could not help laughing quietly to himself.  He felt wet grass in his toes again, and was surrounded by dozens of mammals who had not bathed in several days.  They ran hollering and laughing out into the central Asian rain, ecstatically stripping down and reveling in the opportunity to feel cold water on their bare fur again.  Someone had produced small packets of shampoo, and a burly, naked coyote threw them out into the crowd like candy.  The bold, warm smell of male's shampoo mixed with a week's worth of sweat, dirt, blood, and rainwater filled Finnick's senses again.  He closed his eyes while shampoo ran down his legs and into the drain, letting himself get lost in the memory, as well as the happy shouts of the best friends anyone can have.

Another voice found its way into Finnick's mind.  It was the horrid singing voice of a raccoon, but to Finnick, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.  Allen Esmond belted out the words that would stick with Finnick in his darkest moments, when the world around him was a convoluted mess of sights and sounds without meaning.

_"So long, it's been good to know yuh..."_

_"Dammit, Allen!  I said NO fucking redneck music, you corn-fed jackass!  How much Tiger Blood have you ingested?"_

_Allen slowly turned his head towards Caleb, his eyes narrowed in mock confusion._

_"It's a classic folk song motherfucker, and you know it!"  Allen retorted with a smirk, his paws still gripping the steering wheel, "at least my mom took me to ZASCAR!"_

_The coyote groaned and shrugged, "Point taken.  Just sing something more contemporary."_

_The raccoon smiled contentedly, then slowly at first, he began to sing again._

_"Somewhere...beyond the sea..."_

_Caleb's serious expression softened, then a smile broke on his features.  Seconds later, Finnick joined in, then the mountain lion to his left, and terrible male singing voices filled the armored vehicle._

By the time Finnick shut the water off, he was in a better mood than he had been in weeks.

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

The aroma of bunnyburrow's own unique brand of coffee floated through the apartment.  Judy sat at the kitchen counter on a footstool, casually browsing the news feed on her phone when the bathroom door opened, and a damp-furred Finnick shuffled into the kitchen.  She looked up from her phone and smiled warmly in greeting, still wearing her lavender shirt.

"Morning!"  she said sweetly, pushing a mug towards him.  Finnick hopped up onto another stool across from her, clad in a fresh pair of jeans with a faded black t-shirt draped over his shoulder.  

"S'up."  was all he could manage.  His throat was so parched that it felt like a knife blade was pressing against the roof of his mouth.  Glancing at the stove clock, Finnick saw that it was only seven-thirty A.M, and was about to ask where Nick was when he saw his brother's exhausted form through the open door of the bedroom, still passed out on the sheets.

"Feeling any better?"  Judy asked kindly.  Finnick nodded and ran his fingers through his headfur, having let it grow out a few inches.  He blushed slightly at how Judy seemed to regard him with an almost motherly demeanor, which almost certainly stemmed in part from their first encounter.

Finnick coughed into his arm.  He really did feel strangely better than usual this morning.

“I guess so,” He answered nonchalantly.  Relieved that Finnick was responding positively, Judy glanced into her room to check on Nick, and let out a soft, amused laugh.

"I had this dream where I was fighting a bear downtown,"  she said, leaning back against the counter,  "so I started kneeing him in the stomach."

Finnick stared back at her, wondering how her dream might have manifested physically.  He had a hunch that when Nick got up, he would have a corresponding story.

"At least yours was exciting,"  he answered dryly, "I dreamed I was lost in my old high school, but the hallways were endless, and all the other students were hipster porcupines."

"Sometimes I felt like  _all_ of my classmates in high school were hipster porcupines."  Judy answered with a chuckle.

Finnick lifted the pot to pour himself a cup, but his left paw began trembling so much he could not bring himself to tip it over. 

_Fuck_

When he attempted to pour again, a few drops splashed onto the counter due to the constant shaking.   Before he could make a third attempt, a gentle paw took hold of his wrist, and Finnick looked up into Judy’s eyes, startled.

Her eyes betrayed only compassion, and he allowed her to guide his paw in pouring the steaming liquid.  As she did so, she noticed one distinct, black tattoo on Finnick’s bicep.

 

**NICK**

 

As soon as he set the pot down, Finnick watched Judy curiously, then looked away self-consciously when her amethyst eyes glanced back at him.  A few moments passed before Finnick broke the silence. 

“Thanks…”  He mumbled, staring at his coffee.  His good mood was suddenly in jeopardy. He felt weak and pathetic.   _I can't even pour a cup of coffee anymore?_

Judy could sense his suddenly diminished confidence.  She quickly began thinking of ways to cheering him up, and her mind came to rest on what had put Finnick in good spirits the night before.

 "So..."  Judy began, "when did you and Nick get drunk enough to kiss?"

Finnick's ears pricked up again, and his smile returned.   _If she insists._

"You sure you want to hear the details, Jude?"  Finnick asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.  Judy nodded, keeping her expression curious to egg him on.

"Did he ever tell you who his first kiss came from?"  He began, and Judy nodded again.

"He said that some girl in high school forced him up against the wall, and shoved her tongue in his mouth."  She answered, beginning to wonder if she was getting more than she bargained for.

"Who was his second?"  was all Finnick said in reply.  Judy looked at him apprehensively, feeling like she knew the answer.  Finnick shrugged and poured creamer into his mug.

"Nick was twenty-five, and I was twenty-three.  I was in town for the holidays, and Nick, Ronny, Caleb, and I were drinking at home one night.  A whole bottle of Micah later, Nick and I started gettin' all emotional and everything, saying things like  _I love you, bro, I'd die for you."_

Finnick mimicked an intoxicated slur for effect, and Judy continued to listen with rapt attention, her smirk growing by the second.

"Then I'm starting to get upset about a girl who wouldn't call me back, so Caleb suggested that Nick kiss me and make everything better."  

He paused to take in Judy's expression of concerned amusement, and a playful smile crept across his muzzle.

"It was passionate, Jude."  he said, keeping his tone steady, "we made out right there in Ronny's living room.  Nick was breathing all heavy and running his fingers through my fur, and I was holding him around the neck...then we woke up snuggled up on the couch together.  Ronny and Caleb take credit for arranging us like that."

Judy immediately coughed up a mouthful of coffee, which only caused Finnick to laugh out loud.  Over the last year and a half, she had been able to gather that Nick and Finnick's adolescence and young adult lives had been wild and full of bad decisions, but this was a story that she had a hunch Nick had withheld from her on purpose.

"That's what happens after polishing off a whole handle of Micah."  Finnick gasped, tears of mirth glistening in his eyes.  He had not laughed this hard in years.  

"Like finding out what your big bro tastes like?"

Nick appeared in the bedroom door, still in boxers.  His fur was an unkempt tangle, and he was wearing the most roguish smile possible.

"As much as I try to forget, I still remember what you tasted like,"  Finnick replied, casually sipping from his mug, "back then, your breath smelled like beer, fish tacos, and a little bit of spearmint."

Nick's brow furrowed, but he kept his smile as he made his way to Judy, and kissed her on the cheek.  She smiled weakly, and her nose twitched.

 _He smells like canned coffee_   Judy mouthed to Finnick.

"You, though..."  Nick began mischievously, as though he were about to betray Finnick's most innermost secrets.  Judy was looking back and forth between them, unsure about whether or not to be amused or disgusted by their conversation.

"He found a little bit of my dip in his mouth that morning."  Finnick explained to Judy, who was lost for words.

Nick eased himself onto the seat next to Judy, and poured himself his own cup, "aren't you glad you quit chewing that stuff, Fin?"

Finnick shrugged, "I am now.  There were times when I didn't think so, like whenever I ran out of coffee grounds to chew instead."

He looked at the stove clock and upon seeing that it was eight A.M., hopped down from his stool.

"I gotta go to Ronny's,"  He said, climbing up onto the step ladder so he could wash his mug in the sink, "gonna go try and not throw up before class."

"Tell him he still has my antifreeze."  Nick replied over his shoulder.  Finnick smirked back as he pulled the faded black t-shirt on, then his hoodie and shoes.

Once he was fully dressed, Finnick took his keychain off the coffee table with a faint jingle, and picked up his gym bag.  He approached the front door,and began to turn the doorknob, but hesitated and turned back to Judy and Nick for a moment.  The thought had occurred to him last night, but he had been so exhausted that it never took root in his mind.  He had mulled over how to explain it, but now that he really considered it, it would be best if both Nick and Judy knew.  

Finnick looked Judy dead in the eye.

"Have you ever heard of something called Ramiel?"

Judy shook her head, but understood what Finnick was trying to tell her.  Nick simply looked confused.

"It's the name of an old folk figure in Fox's mythology."  Finnick continued, "and what some captured insurgents called a foreign fighter that killed almost a quarter of my battalion eight years ago."

Judy frowned, wracking her brain for any memory of where she had heard that title.  One name came to mind when she thought of the inscription in the bathroom, but nothing about a foreign assassin.

"He got away?"  Judy asked.  Finnick nodded in reply.

"He vanished one night.  Never took another shot at us again."

Judy absorbed the information, keeping her tone professional, "We'll look into it, Fin.  Don't worry."

Finnick nodded his thanks and opened the door, but stopped again.  He had considered not telling Judy this, but had hesitated until now out of concern that it would sound too worrisome.

"The night he disappeared, I found myself in the same room as him,"  he said over his shoulder, "he had a clear chance to kill me, but he didn't.  Even though he was wearing a mask, he looked at me like he recognized me.  Then he was gone."

Judy stared at him for a moment longer.  Before she could think of anything to say, Finnick looked down at his phone and stepped outside.

"Ronny's waiting. See you guys."  He said with a wave.  Judy waved back.

"See you later, Fin."

The door closed, and Nick immediately looked at Judy, desperate for answers.

"He's in a good mood this morning..."  he trailed off.  Judy sighed and poured more coffee.

"You remember how uneasy we were at that rest stop last night?" she inquired, "and how it just seemed so, you know...off?"  

Nick pictured the dark, empty rest area, and could still feel chills running up his spine.

"Fin found out the reason why, didn't he?"  he asked in reply, his tone serious.

Judy nodded and got up off the stool, stretching her limps out languidly.

"We're going to need to talk to Esmond today.  See if he can have that rest area searched."

She pulled her lavender shirt over her ears, and folded it up.  She was about to toss the shirt in the laundry hamper that hung from a hook by the bathroom when she noticed Nick regarding her with an almost reprimanding look.

"Who were you fighting last night?"  He asked her curiously, and she immediately blushed and giggled, her ears drooping.

"Nick, I'm-did I hit you?"  She stammered, only now realizing how her dream might have manifested. Nick rolled his eyes and one paw casually slipped between his thighs.  Judy's eyes widened, and she clapped a paw to her mouth.

"I'm wearing a cup to bed, carrots."  Nick said, chuckling, "you've got some killer knees."

 

~<{0}>~

 

The Lobos Z1's engine rattled to life.  Through foggy windows, Finnick could see a brilliant snowy city landscape with the streets already cleared.  The sun that peeked through the skyscrapers only added to the truly spectacular panorama.

While he waited for the van to warm up, Finnick reached into the gym bag that he had placed on the passenger seat, and pulled out his pill and water bottles.  Even though they still reminded him of his dependency, somehow that fact did not bother him today.  For one reason or another, Finnick felt strangely optimistic.  Just the prospect of going to work out with a friend, or coming home at the end of the day to two mammals who loved him were the sort of simple joys in life that Finnick had often taken for granted.  It made him feel alive.

He swallowed the pills gratefully, resolving only to focus on good memories today, then put the van in gear and drove out of the apartment complex towards the suburbs.  Morning commuters, emergency vehicles, and cyclists all poured past him as he drove into the dazzling winter sunlight.  Flipping through the radio stations, he came across the same, redundant morning talk shows, and eventually settled on one he knew could occasionally make him laugh.

"How long did take you to learn to crawl?  Half a year?  What about walking?  Took you a whole year.  Then you were running.  You ate the dirt constantly, skinned a few knees, and probably hit your head on a few hard surfaces, but think about it: you were laughing louder than you ever have in your life since then.  You barely knew how to do anything other than cry, shit yourself, and babble incoherently, but still you were the happiest little animal you could be."

The strong, southern accent caught Finnick's attention, and he turned up the volume.

"The bottom line is: being born again hurts like hell.  It's like learning how to do basic shit all over again, but as an adult.  You're learning to walk again, and it's scaring you.  I promise, before you know it, you're going to be running like the wind again, and you're gonna feel exactly the same joy you did when you ran on two feet the first time."

As Finnick listened, he quietly started to sing to himself in a terrible, yet solid voice.

"Somewhere...beyond the sea...she's there, watching for me..."


	4. It Means No Worries

Finnick's misty breath rose around him like smoke as he walked up a snowy driveway towards a tall, handsome ferret wearing athletic sweatpants and a hoodie, who approached from the interior of his spacious garage.  His whiskers were thick, and formed a distinctive, roguish mustache on his upper lip, and walked with a spring in his step as if the cold and the snow meant nothing to him.  He grinned mischievously in greeting at Finnick, spreading his arms out wide.  Finnick could feel a familar sense of fun welling up.  Ronny never failed to liven up his day.

"I was worried you weren't going to be up for this today, Fin!"  Ronny said, grasping Finnick's paw and hugging him enthusiastically, "figured you would want to sleep in!"

Finnick let out a bark-like laugh, taking off his beanie to run his fingers through his headfur. "Ronny, if I don't hit a heavy bag, or deadlift something soon, I'm going to have to improvise, and I can't do that at the apartment." he replied as they made their way back to Finnick's van. "Besides," he added, "I need an excuse to cuss out loud. I dropped a few too many F-bombs when I smashed my fingers in the car door at a gas station on the way to Alto, and Judy almost decked me."

Ronny was about to hop into the passenger seat when a feminine voice came from the garage. A female ferret was leaning out of the kitchen door that was inside the garage, a baby on her hip. "When you get home," she called, "be as quiet as you can! Carly's probably going to be asleep! Hi Fin!"

 

"Hi, Teresa!"  Finnick called back with a wave.  Ronny flashed his wife a thumbs up, then blew her a kiss as the garage door rattled closed.  Seconds later, they were both driving down a suburban street, Ronny warming his paws by the air vent.

"How was Alto this year?"  Ronny asked, turning to Finnick, who shrugged.

"Kyle and Shelby made another baby."  He answered simply, and Ronny let out an amused laugh.

"That makes six, right?"  He added, taking off his own beanie.

Finnick nodded, turning out of the neighborhood, and onto a highway that led directly towards a set of guard booths several hundred feet to their left.  

"I'm gonna give Kyle a box of condoms for his birthday."  Finnick said with a smirk as they approached the guard booths, fishing into his back pocket with one paw, "Nothing wrong with having a lot of kids, but  _damn_.  So many so fast.  How the fuck do they find the time to make more?"

The van's brakes squealed only slightly as he pulled up next to an MP with an M4 slung across his front.  Ronny passed Finnick his own ID, who held up both cards up.  The MP took one look at Finnick, gave them a subtle nod, then brought a gloved paw up in a quick salute.  Finnick returned the gesture, and drove onto the base, handing Ronny's ID back to him.

"He looked warm."  Ronny said with a hint of amusement as he slid his card back into his wallet.  Finnick laughed and shook his head, one paw resting on the steering wheel.

"I've seen that guy around.  He got fucked over when he wanted to try out for the embassy program, and his dumb bitch of a company commander hated his ass because he was actually good at his job.  Now he's stuck here at Camp Fuckmylife checking ID's.  Probably all the way until he pops smoke next year."

They drove past a fire station, and Ronny looked wistfully over his shoulder at it.

"I'd be a liar if I said I don't miss it."  He said, watching several mammals in suits that resembled tin foil.  Finnick scoffed.

"You were in the Navy.  On the  _west_ coast.  Of course you miss it,"  he said, while a helicopter roared across the road about a hundred feet away, "but you were a smart little squid.  You got out, went to college, and got away from lifers like _me!"_

Finnick finished his sentence with a wide smile, and leaned his neck back against the headrest, his aviators flashing brilliantly in the sunlight.  He flashed a snarky grin at Ronny, who burst out laughing.

"That doc's lying when he says you're fucked up."  He said, chuckling.

They soon approached an outdoor pavilion with a large metal roof, where a few figures were already assembled underneath it, one of which was wearing green sweats with a tan beanie.  When Finnick parked, and he an Ronny got out, they all turned and watched the two of them approach.  The mammal int he sweats, a jackal with a gold tooth and one missing finger, ran out into the parking lot to greet Finnick and Ronny.

Finnick dodged the jackal's fake thrust kick, then spun around him and mimicked breaking his neck.

"Fuck that doc, Wilde!"  The Jackal exclaimed in a thin English accent as he straightened up and pulling Finnick into a hug, "You ain't fucked up! The fuck won't they let you back in?"

"It's my brain that's wrecked, Firatti,"  Finnick said with a wry grin, "I can unfuck my body just fine."

"Ronny boy!"  Firatti said suddenly, and threw his arms around the ferret's shoulders.  Ronny could smell the strawberry pre-workout on his breath, and could sense his hyperactivity as Firatti turned and scampered into the pavilion.

"He just got here, so he's a little pent up."  Finnick said in a loud whisper to Ronny, who was laughing quietly.  The floor of the pavilion was soft padding made of shredded tires, perfect for olympic lifting.  To Finnick, the smell of it was addicting.

All around them were barbells, gymnastic rings, sleds, tires, sledgehammers, squat racks, and ropes both hanging from the ceiling and curled up on the floor.  There was even a yolk and a log for strongmammal workouts.  Feratti ran past the other two mammals, one a raccoon, and one a puma, and hopped up onto one of the ropes to haul himself up with only his arms.  He was so efficient that it was as if he was born on a climbing rope.  He almost seemed to be pulling the ceiling towards him as he climbed.  

The puma, a tall, strong-jawed mammal slightly older than Finnick, watched him go with a bemused smile, his arms folded across his chest.

"Now if only he had that kind of energy  _at work_."  He said to Finnick and Ronny, putting particular emphasis on the last two words.

"He would if he would quit trying to blow his paycheck on strippers."  The raccoon said as he turned and saw Finnick and Ronny approaching,  then turned to the two of them, and shook their paws.

The raccoon resembled a walking ball of muscle, and had an almost handsomely evil look about him.  When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly normal.  Anyone who had not met him would have thought he was going to sound like a cartoon villain.  

"Good to see you both."  he said warmly, releasing Ronny's paw and stepping back to watch Firatti descend the rope with only his arms, misty breath rising around him all the way down.

"How's the new guy coming along, Allen?"  Finnick asked, nodding at Firatti.  The raccoon flashed them a wry grin.

"Did you smell the jack on his breath?  Planinski said he was still drunk an hour ago."  He said, taking a sip from his water bottle.  Finnick's eyes widened, then he returned the knowing smile.

"Ohhhh...yeah.  I getcha..."  He replied, "and the pre-workout."

Allen set his water bottle down on one of the shoulder-high concrete supports that held the metal roof overhead, while Firatti went up the rope a second time.  The puma watched for a moment longer, then joined Finnick, Ronny, and Allen by the edge of the rubber floor.

"He's a psycho boot, but he's our boot."  He said, shedding his jacket.  Finnick and Ronny set their gym bags on the ground next to each other, and Finnick began removing his jeans, having worn athletic sweatpants underneath.  He tossed the folded up garment on top of his bag, and came face to face with Firatti.

"You old fucks ready?" The jackal asked enthusiastically, spreading his arms wide.  Finnick blinked.   _Who the fuck are you calling old, you little shit._

He smiled benignly.  Firatti's enthusiasm reminded him of himself when he was nineteen, minus the gold tooth and missing finger.  And the accent.

"Just don't shit your skivvies when that pre-workout wears off."  He said, stretching his paws out in front of him.  Firatti smirked and flashed him a middle finger.

"I brought an extra pair."

Loud, heavy music with screamed lyrics quickly filled the pavilion, and soon, four old friends were working and sweating like they had ten years ago, with one newcomer to give them boundless energy.

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

Fourty minutes later, Finnick could scarcely breathe.  Two weeks of holiday eating and travel had reduced him to sheer willpower.  He had started off by climbing the rope, hit a tire with a sledgehammer for one minute, flipped the massive piece of rubber ten times, then repeated the process three times with a weighted vest on.  He had utterly worn himself out more severely than he had in years, leaving his abdomen cramping, and his back aching so badly he felt nauseous.  Ronny stood over him with his arms folded, where he slumped against the concrete pillar, covered in sweat and visibly shaking.

"You gonna make it, Fin?"  Ronny asked, trying not to sound worrisome.  Finnick flashed a pained smile, and nodded wearily, cold sweat dripping from his face.

"Fuck, bro,"  He replied shakily, "I gotta quit thinking I'm still twenty years old.  My back ain't what it used to be."

He and Ronny both glanced at Firatti, who was pulling a weighted sled while chasing Planinski, who was holding out a pair of pads for the jackal to punch.  Ronny watched them for a moment longer, then turned back to Finnick, who was trying to stand up again.

"Maybe..."  Ronny began as he pulled his friend to his footpaws, "it's time to try something new.  Get back into running, or swimming again.  There's so many wounded vets running triathlons, climbing, surfing...shit like that.  Ageless sports, you know what I mean?."

"Funny you should mention that,"  Finnick said, his breath beginning to return to him, "my grandma was just telling me the same thing.  Jessica's in her seventies, and she still runs triathlons all over the world.  Said it would help my head feel better."

He heaved the weighted vest off himself, and disappeared into the small concrete shed where various extra barbells, kettlebells, and other equipment was stored.  Allen joined them, his fur also matted with sweat.

"Did Fin finally puke?"  He asked, draping a towel over his head.  Ronny shook his head, and guzzled from his water bottle.

"Nope, but he overdid it.  He really shouldn't be training like this."

Allen nodded understandingly, "That doc's gonna kill us for letting him do that."

"He just wants so bad to feel like he did before,"  Ronny replied, shrugging admissively, "it's just that...he's gotta learn to turn that page of his life, and let it be."

A shout echoed behind them, and they both turned to see Firatti celebrating a successful new personal deadlift record.  He spat water into the air, and threw his head back, allowing it to rain down onto his youthful face.  Planinski looked on with a smirk that looked like something between pride in his student, or just sheer amusement at his boyish behavior.

Finnick appeared at Ronny's side, looking significantly less pale.  He glanced down at his phone, and flicked it off quickly.

"I gotta get rinsed off.  Class at eleven."  He said, walking towards his gym bag.  Ronny and Allen followed.

"I should get going too,"  Ronny said, kneeling down to tighten shoelace, "Teresa needs a break, and it's my day off."

"Don't be such a stranger, Fin," Allen said, pulling out his phone and flicking through it, "you both should come out to the range with me and Planinski sometime.  Bring Nick and Judy too."

"Judy could kill us all toe to toe if she really wanted to,"  Finnick replied with a wry grin as he stood up, his gym bag over his shoulder, "that girl's a freak of nature."

Planinski and Firatti appeared next to Allen, Firatti's sweater folded up into a sweat-soaked lump under his arm.

"That's the impression I got when I met her," Planinski said in his low country drawl, "sweet as honey, but damn she's got a razor edge.  Nick better watch his step."

"Well, she did knee him in the balls by accident last night."  Finnick said, guzzling from his water bottle as Ronny finished zipping his gym bag.

"Was he having a dirty dream without her?"  Allen asked, smirking.  Finnick shook his head.

"Nah, she just thought she was fighting a bear."

"You always have the best stories about those two."  Firatti piped up, .  Finnick internally cringed, not daring to consider the kinds of fantasies that Firatti might have about Judy.  Not wanting to stay and engage the jackal in any further conversation, he and Ronny turned and walked out across the parking lot.  

"See you guys!"  They both called out in unison.  Allen and Paninski both waved back, and a smiling Firatti flashed them a middle finger.  They passed the van, and walked across the street towards an indoor gym, where they made their way past various mammals in military PT uniforms towards the locker rooms.

"Ronny?"  Finnick asked suddenly, as they scrubbed sweat and grime off their fur.

"What's up?" came the reply.

"Nick wants his antifreeze back."

 

~<{0}>~

 

Allen sat in his car for a moment before pulling out of his parking space.  His phone buzzed on the center console, and on the screen was a text from a familiar mammal.  Picking the phone up, he flicked through the contacts for a few seconds before holding it up to his ear.

It rang twice, and Judy's voice crackled out of the speaker.

"Hey, Judy.  Sorry I missed your call,"  Allen said, putting his car reverse.

"It's okay!"  Judy replied, "There's just something Nick and I need to see if you can do."

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

A sopophoric noise emanated from the front of the classroom.  Maybe it was the heater.  Maybe he was high.

Finnick desperately fought the urge to allow his eyelids to sink as he listened to his world history teacher drone on and on and on.  He wanted to care, he really did.  Finnick loved history, and was always fascinated with learning and studying new branches of it.  He even had a stack of history books at the apartment that he had collected over the years, some he had not read yet.  There was just something about this teacher's voice that rendered it too dull to give a shit about.

Finnick absently began to draw on his notebook.  A grassy field by a glistening bubbling creek could easily be seen amidst the crude pen strokes, revealing one of Finnick's long-held, but little used talents.  He had decorated the side of his van, but that was the extent of his artistic ability.

A small fennec fox appeared by the creek, sitting on the grass by the water.  Next to her, a second fennec sat close to her.  Their paws rested on the ground, and although not detailed, their fingers were intertwined.  Emotions he had never felt swirled in Finnick's mind.  Every time she looked at him, her shy, innocent smile sent an electric shock through him.  The wind rustled in her headfur, and Finnick caught a whiff of her scent.  It was intoxicating, like every wildflower in the world all in one smell.  The scene was so surreal and perfect, and yet it was real.  She was real.

The more Finnick drew, the more he remembered her, and they way she had made a quiet little adopted boy talk for the first time.  They ran through fields of flowers together, played on swingsets together, pretended to fight monsters together, and finally, she had ventured to kiss him once.  They were seven years old.

The moving truck in front of her house filled Finnick with dread.  He was devastated.  She could not be going away, but she had to.  She had kissed him goodbye, and promised that they would see each other again.  Finnick had believed it.

He had not seen or heard from her in twenty years.

Finnick's paw moved across the page, scribbling out one final touch to his drawing.

_Madeline and Me_

"Their belief was that they could simulate a demonic possession of sorts."  came the teacher's voice, and Finnick's ears pricked up.  He suddenly wished he had been paying attention, because whatever Mrs. Shrader was talking about actually sounded interesting for once.

"The idea was that by injecting an heir with what they believed to be their "leader's" blood, he could live through them, and carry on his legacy.  There is no scientific basis to that at all, but that being said, their are known to be groups even in recent history who still believed in it.

Finnick sat up straighter, listening fully.

"However,"  Mrs. Shrader continued, flicking ahead on her powerpoint slides, "by far the craziest, and the most widely held belief, is that Remiel never died.  They say his body was never found."

The light from the powerpoint flashed once more, and Finnick's eyes narrowed.

An ancient, yet immaculately detailed oil painting from the 1500's, depicted a burning field with numerous little insects flying out across the leaping flames.  In the center of the painting was a sinister hooded figure, whom at first glance would most likely be dismissed as a renaissance depiction of death or the devil.   It did not appear to be any particular species, and simply stood waist deep in the unburned grass, with flames leaping up behind it.  Even as Finnick stared at the figure, he could sense the searing, toxic hatred the artist had captured in the figure's sightless gaze.  The longer he looked, the more wicked and real the figure seemed.

"Basil Issakios was a Greek mercenary who took part in an expedition through the Sahara desert to recover the body of an Ottoman general."  Mrs. Shrader continued, picking up her laser pointer, "years later, he retired in Italy with his family, where he painted this.  All he ever described about it, was that the devil had found him in that field of parched, dread grass, and a thousand dragonflies rose from the ground in a cloud that blocked out the sun."

Finnick studied the title of the painting, which Basil Issakios had scribbled on the bottom right corner in an ancient, foreign language.

"For reasons unknown,"  Mrs. Shrader said, "he named this painting  _Ramiel."_

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

A few hours later, the painting was no longer on Finnick's mind.

Waiting rooms always made Finnick uncomfortable.  He could not help but think about all of the sick mammals that had sat in these leather chairs, and all of the germs that were still in the air no matter how much the staff sterilized it.  Still, he had no choice but to sit and wait for his name to be called like he did every few weeks.  A muscular, forty-something snow leopard sat across from him, casually flipping through an old  _Outdoors_ magazine.  Being the only mammals in the waiting room at this hour, from time to time they exchanged brief glances at each other when the other was not looking.

Finnick flicked through outdated  _International Geographical_ magazines, simply trying to find something to do that did not involve wasting his eyesight by looking at the Muzzlebook news feed on his phone.  Suddenly, a cartoon on the TV in the children's waiting area reached his ears.  He listened carefully for a moment, then turned his gaze towards the TV.

_"Dad! Dad, wake up!"  Simba pleaded, prodding his motionless father's form.  A larger lion appeared out of the mist that surrounded them.  His fur was a deep shade of red, and his mane was jet black, and he walked silently and confidently, as if he were enjoying the sight of the cub's suffering._

_"Simba...what have you done?"  the red lion said condemmingly, allowing the cub to bury his face in his leg._

_"Please, Uncle Scar! It was an accident!"  Simba stammered, "I didn't mean for it to happen!  I-"_

_Tears were spilling from his eyes, and Scar put on a disturbingly fake look of compassion._

_"Of course not..." he said slowly, "no one means for these things to happen."_

_"But,"  he added, his voice stern, "the king is dead, and if it weren't for you,"  he looked back down at Simba, "he would still be alive."_

_"What would the others say?"  Scar gasped suddenly, "what will your mother say?"_

_A look of sheer terror and guilt formed on Simba's features, and he started backing away from Scar._

_"What should I do?" he asked timidly._

_"Run away!"  Scar replied dramatically, "Run away, and never return!"_

_Simba turned on his heel, and took off into the distance as fast as he could go.  The second he was out of sight, Scar's look of compassion turned into an evil grin.  Three hyenas appeared behind him, and a soft chuckle escaped the lion's throat._

_"Kill him."_

"Daniel Wilde?"

Both Finnick and the snow leopard jumped, and Finnick turned his gaze to the door beside the reception desk, where a tall doe stood holding it open, a clipboard in her hooves.  He hopped down from his chair, and walked towards the doe, while behind him, a lone child ran for his life from three mammals who wanted to kill him.

A few minutes later, he sat motionless on a table, with a thin sheet of paper between him and the surface.  The doe knelt in front of him, questioning him in a calm, gentle voice.

"Any trouble sleeping?"  She asked.  Finnick hesitated for a moment.

"Yep."  He said.

"Any pain while urinating?"

"Of course."  Finnick replied adamantly.

"Nausea?"

"All the time?" Finnick said.

"How's your hip?"  She asked.  "Any unusual pain?"

"No"  Finnick lied.

"Alcohol usage?"

"A little"  Finnick lied again.

"How often do you exercise on a scale of none to daily?"

"Daily."  Finnick said.

The doe paused to finish writing his responses.

"Recreational drug use?"  She asked.

"No."  Finnick said.

"Any side effects from the medication you are currently prescribed?"

"No." Finnick said, but with a little less certainty.

"Do you or have your ever smoked?"

"No."  Finnick said.

"Any recent sexual activity?"

"Definitely, no."  Finnick said.  The doe seemed to catch the barely concealed bitterness in his voice with a quick glance at him, but did not react to it.

"Lastly, how would you rate your pain right now, on a scale of one to ten?"

Finnick mulled over the question for a second, staring at the diagram of a fox's brain on the wall.

"A lot...?"  He ventured, unsure of what to place his answer on.  The doe stared back for a moment, as if she knew he was not trying hard enough.

"....Eight?"  Finnick said slowly, but instantly felt like he was cheating himself.  The truth was, everything hurt like hell.  

The doe stood up and tucked her clipboard under her arm.

"Dr. Givens will be here in a moment.  Just sit tight, and if you need anything, the door is open.  Okay?"

Finnick nodded, and the doe disappeared.  He was seriously regretting pushing himself so hard earlier, given the severe throbbing in his joints, especially the hip.  Maybe Ronny was right, and it was time to stop trying to move the way he had in his prime.  He could easily find a more sustainable hobby, something that other wounded veterans gravitated to.  Even as Finnick thought this, the old stubbornness that had driven him for so long threatened to overtake common sense.  He was only twenty-nine, and that was nothing.  There were mammals in his old unit who were in their forties, who could still train and fight like they were twenty.  There should be no reason why he could not do the same.  Then, they never did get shot in the hip, or break their back, or hit their head so hard it fucked them up for life.

Dr.  Givens appeared moments later.  She was a pretty, thirty-something badger with a kind smile, and in a strange and unexpected way, she always reminded Finnick of his own adoptive mother.

"Hi, Fin.  How are you today?"  She said, extending a paw for him to shake.

"Like I jumped in a puddle of sunshine."  He replied, shrugging and shaking her paw.  Dr. Givens chuckled and set he clipboard down on the counter next to the sink.

"We're just going to run some more tests today."  She said, standing up and slipping on a pair of latex gloves.  Finnick sighed, resigning himself for the worst.  He had a feeling that he knew what was wrong, and it filled him with dread to think about it.

"First,"  Dr. Givens said, making her way over to him, "let's see if there's been any change to your hip since last time.  Can you drop your pants for a moment?"

 

~<{0}>~

 

A short while later, Dr. Givens sat on a wheeled stool in front of him, with Finnick on a table covered by a thin sheet of paper.  She looked down at her clipboard for a moment, then turned her gaze back up to Finnick, who sat silently, the good mood he had worked so hard to have today, now completely shattered.

"You're not dying,"  She said reassuringly, "but you have to understand what you're going to have to live with."

Finnick stared back in numb disbelief.  He knew that he should have seen it coming, and it should not be such a shock, but here it was: the truth of the matter.

"So..." Finnick began, still trying to make sense of what the doctor was telling him, "I  _don't_ have cancer?"

"Not cancer,"  Dr. GIvens replied gently, "but something that is going to affect you for the rest of your life.  Since your injury, you went through TBI therapy, vestibular therapy, and physical therapy, but nothing caught this because it had not yet developed."

Finnick continued to stare back, wishing the doctor would just tell him.

"You have Archer's disease."  Dr. Givens said with a tone of finality.  Finnick blinked.   _I have what?_

"The dizziness, the headaches, the nausea, the hallucinations you say you're having," she continued, "all of the symptoms you mentioned raised my suspicions, but after we finally tested you for it, we were able to confirm it.  Archer's isn't really a disease, though.  It's actually a syndrome that's usually brought on by previous brain trauma.  Two years ago, you suffered a severe TBI, which created conditions for it to potentially develop.  There was just no indication that it would until the last few months."

Something like a lead weight was dropping from Finnick's throat to his intestine as he listened.

"So how long do I have?"  he asked, almost with an air of snarky humor.  Dr. Givens shook her head in reply.

"Like I said before, you're not dying,"  she said, "but it's going to cause you tremendous pain from here on out.  It does get more severe the longer you have it, but with medication, therapy, and a healthy lifestyle, it can be lived with.  I would be doing you a disservice if I didn't warn you that the pain of Archer's disease is very real, and can break some mammals.  Fine motor skills often diminish overtime, and because it affects brain function, it's normal to experience depression and guilt as a side effect.  You, Finnick, are not any ordinary mammal.  You know pain like the back of your paw, and you're not afraid of it.  Think of this as just another battle for you to fight in.  I know you miss war so much it hurts, so approach this as war against yourself."

Finnick listened her calm voice patiently, taking in every word.   _This lady could be a therapist if he wanted to_.

Dr. Givens got up from her stool, but regarded Finnick for a moment longer.

"How's Nick and Judy doing?"  She asked, picking up her clipboard.  Finnick sighed, thinking of Nick and all the trouble he had caused him.  Guilt began seeping in, but he quickly dismissed it.  Only positive thoughts today.

"They're great..."  Finnick said, composing himself, "doing great."

Dr. Givens opened the door, and Finnick hopped down from the table, feeling strangely numb and heavy.

"The reception desk will give you your prescriptions," she said with a smile, standing aside while Finnick walked past her out into the hallway, "you can schedule your next appointment there.  Take care, Fin.  Call me if you have any questions."

Finnick shook her paw, and walked back out into the waiting room, his head awash with fear and doubt.  While he waited for the receptionist to print out his prescriptions, his attention was drawn back to the TV in the kid's room.  The same cartoon was playing, but further along.

_"So kid," a meerkat said to Simba with a dramatic wave of his paw, "where ya from?"_

_"Who cares,"  Simba replied, his ears drooping, "I can't go back."_

_The meerkat's eyes lit up, and he darted in front of Simba, who was trying to slink away._

_"Oh, you're an outcast!  That's great, kid!"  He exclaimed.  "So are we!"_

_A warthog leaned his close, his cartoon eyes wide and curious._

_"What'd you do, kid?"  he asked.  Simba's ears drooped again._

_"Something terrible."  He said, avoiding the warthog's eyes, "I don't want to talk about it."_

_"Good!"  The meerkat said loudly, folding his arms, "we don't wanna hear about it!"_

"Here's your prescription, Mr. Wilde, and information about Archer's disease."  said the receptionist, drawing Finnick's attention back to reality.  He quietly accepted the papers, which had been pushed through the small gap in the glass for him, and turned to leave, passing the snow leopard he had seen earlier.  In the several seconds it took for Finnick to reach the sliding doors, he kept his ears swiveled towards the TV.

_"Look kid,"  The meerkat said, "bad things happen, and you can't do anything about it.  Right?"_

_"Right."  Simba said quietly, but was quickly cut off by the meerkat._

_"WRONG!" He said suddenly, his finger shooting out towards Simba's nose._

_"When the world turns it's back on_ _you, you turn your back on the world!"_

_A dubious look could briefly be seen on Simba's features, despite his otherwise downcast appearance._

_"That's not what I was taught."  He replied.  The meerkat shook his head._

_"Then maybe you need a new lesson.  Repeat after me..."_

The sounds and sirens of Zootopia at night replaced the sterile atmosphere of the hospital, and Finnick walked across the parking lot to his van, a lone figure under the streetlights.

 

~<{0}>~

 

Finnick drove home in a sort of daze.  He had no music playing, and his thoughts were quiet, which left only the sounds of the road beneath him and the city around him.  As he simply went through the motions, following the route he knew so well, his mind began to run circles again.

It could have been worse.  For a month or so now, Finnick had begun to worry that he might have cancer, but today had cleared away those concerns, in return for an equally devastating condition.

He had only heard of Archer's disease once, during a military history class while he was active duty.  It apparently had been a condition first identified on a group of European archers in the holy land, who reported tremendous physical pain, and at the time, attacks on their souls from the devil.  Finnick knew nothing else about it, other than there was no known cure, and the fact that he was now marked for life.

Numbing fear at how Nick and Judy would react coursed through him.  He knew they would be supportive, but for how long?  Would they get fed up and abandon him?  Would his condition prove to be too much for them?  Would the remainder of his friends give up on him?  All Finnick wanted was to be normal again like he had been two years ago, and not be a medical, emotional wreck anymore.  Now that seemingly reasonable dream was futile.

It suddenly became clear to Finnick that he did not know where he was.  He sat idling at a stop sign, and started around in confusion.  None of this made sense, he had just taken the same street back to the apartment complex that he always had.  He quickly cleared his mind, and retraced his steps.  Still, nothing made sense.  He did not recognize where he was.  The suburban streets next to him, and the tall live oak tree on the corner to his right were all unfamiliar, yet there was no way he had missed his turn.

Finnick reached into his pocket, and fished out his phone.  He quickly typed in the address of the apartment, and a cold shock rippled through him.  He stared at the screen in disbelief.  He was only a few hundred feet away.

He quickly turned the van around, and drove back the way he came.  It only took Finnick a few minutes to realize that he was lost again.  He blinked and stared around at the dark suburban streets around him, feeling pathetic and confused.  He used to be able to navigate across mountains and underwater with ease, but could not remember out how to get back to his own apartment.

Finnick looked down at his phone, and saw that had passed his turn.  

_What the fuck?  There was no turn there!_

Finnick turned around again, and only drove about thirty seconds when he had to stop again.  He was right next to the turn that his phone said would take him to the apartment, but he had no memory of it.  He did not recognize anything about his surroundings.

With shaking fingers, he flicked through his contacts a few times before putting the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Fin."  came Nick's voice, "what's up?"

Finnick faltered for a moment, embarrassed to the core.

"H-hey, Nick.  Sorry to bother you at work, but I can't find the apartment."  He said, cringing at his own helplessness.

"No, no...don't worry about that."  Nick replied kindly, "where are you now?"

"Well,"  Finnick said, glancing outside, "there's a magnolia tree to my left...and I'm at an intersection between Perry Avenue, and Meggs Drive.  Nothing looks familiar at all, I...I don't get it, I went the same way that I always d-"

"Fin..."

Nick's voice cut in, and Finnick fell silent.

"You're there, bud,"  Nick said, his tone worried.  "Meggs drive is our street."

"Huh?"  Finnick replied, utterly bewildered, "How can that-"

He stopped.  Everything came flooding back.  Nick was right.  This was the street and the apartment complex was only just out of sight.  Feeling more stupid than he had his whole life, Finnick put the van in gear and turned down Meggs Drive.

"You're right...I found it,"  Finnick said as the upscale apartment buildings came into view, "just bein' stupid."

"Fin?"  Nick's voice came again, sounding distinctively worried.  "is everything okay?"

"I'm fine,"  Finnick lied as he pulled into his designated parking space, "I'll see you and Judy in the morning.  Be safe, bud."

"Alright," Nick replied, trying to sound reassured, "call me or Judy if you need anything.  We'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, daddy."  Finnick said with a weak smile.  A faint, crackling laugh came from the speaker.

"I love you too."  Nick said.

 

~<{0}>~

 

 _I just got myself distracted_   Finnick thought to himself as he sat down at the kitchen counter,  _You're just freaking out because you got diagnosed with some kind of permanent brain disorder._

Even as he said these words to himself, he could not fully convince himself that what had just happened was not just normal forgetfulness.  He had completely forgotten where he was, in the middle of familiar surroundings, and the helplessness he had felt, and the loss of control horrified him.

The apartment was strangely silent.  Snow was falling again, impacting the windowpanes with a soft patter, but other than that, the heater, and the distant rush of traffic in the distance, Finnick was alone with his mind for company.

 _"Why are you afraid of telling Nick?"_   Finnick asked himself suddenly.  A slightly younger version of himself sat across the counter.  He looked more vibrant and alive, like a mammal in his prime.  

Finnick sighed and shrugged, avoiding Finnick's gaze.

"I don't know,"  he said, "he's put up with my shit for so long, and I..."

Finnick raised his eyebrows, and leaned against the table, staring into Finnick's eyes and trying to coax a complete answer.

 _"You think,"_   Finnick said as he leaned back again, _"that Nick's fed up with helping you, and if you tell him everything on your mind, he's going to give up on you."_

Finnick nodded, feeling scrutinized by the bold, bright golden brown eyes.  Finnick shook his head, a smirk forming on his muzzle.

 _"Look at me."_   He said sternly, and Finnick drew his gaze back up."

 _"Did Nick give up on you when you failed at being a father?_ _"_  Finnick said, his eyes glinting with their old vigor, _"No.  Did he give up on you when your career ended and you dropped from grace like a rock?  No.  When you lost your wife and daughter at the same time, and you wanted to end your life, what did he do?"_

Finnick stared back into Finnick's eyes, and although he knew the answer, he could not bring himself to say it.

_"Nick pulled the gun from your grasp, and held you like brother he almost lost.  He said it that night, that he was never going to let you fall like that again.  Do you remember what he said that made you smile again that night when you begged him to forgive you."_

Finnick hesitated, his mouth hanging open slightly.  He had just heard it only thirty minutes ago.

"Hakuna matata."  He said slowly, and Finnick smiled in satisfaction.  He got up off the stool, and made his way to the pantry, his insides suddenly aching with hunger.

Outside, a grey pickup truck sat in the parking lot under a flickering streetlight.  The engine was turned off and the lights were out.


	5. The Only Thing That's Real

  _Finnick stumbled through an odd, almost ecstatic daze.  He was so amped up on energy drinks, tobacco, and adrenaline that he felt detached from reality.  Reality, however, was erupting around him.  The din of gunfire was nonstop, like a waterfall.  Tracers streamed in all directions, lighting up the late evening gloom like a fireworks display.  Unseen enemies were hurling everything they had in a brazen, yet unskilled ambush.  Rounds whizzed and snapped all around Finnick, some passing so close he could feel the concussive pressure in his heart.  He scrambled up against the mud brick wall next to Allen, who leaned into his M4, picking his targets with calm precision.  Mammals all around him shouted and fired over the wall, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that obscured the mammals furthest from him._

 _Despite the chaotic scene, Finnick was almost giddy with excitement.  He managed to keep it hidden, and concentrated on returning fire.  He didn't care if he couldn't see who he was shooting.  He just loved the fact that he was finally getting to kill bad guys.  So far he had not experienced the uncomfortable combat stress reaction they had been warned would affect twenty five percent of them.  Finnick's pants were still dry, and that was a good sign._ _Planinski's 240 would normally have been so devastatingly loud, it would have made Finnick cringe.  Through the adrenaline and gunfire, it seemed to whisper, emitting shockwaves that picked up his internal organs and slammed them against his ribcage._

_"Wilde!  Esmond!  Planinski!  Get the fuck over here!"  Caleb roared, the coyote's hoarse, guttural voice somehow audible over the gunfire.  He exerted a powerful commanding presence in the chaos, eerily relaxed like a cliche movie hero.  There was a loud ripping sound overhead, and a CH-1 Python helicopter sent a pair of hellflame missiles into a distant building, which detonated in an echoing thunderclap._

_The second they had reached their next cover, Finnick lifted his rifle to cover the next team's movement.  Suddenly, a powerful, concussive force slammed into his head like a sledgehammer.  His head snapped backwards and his helmet smacked directly into Allen's face.  Finnick fell down onto his back, completely disoriented. The gunfire was reduced to dull thudding, and the tracers looked like fuzzy lasers pointing back and forth.  As he felt himself being dragged, the world flooded back, and he blinked furiously. The noise and the mammals in front of him convinced him he was not dead.  Without a word, Finnick lurched to his footpaws and grabbed his rifle, which still hung from him by a sling._

_"I'm okay!  I'm fucking okay!" Finnick shouted, staggering towards Allen, who gaped at him._

_"Fin, you hard motherfucker!"  The raccoon shouted back, blood from his nose streaming over his mouth and down his front, and resembling a child messily eating a cherry popsicle.  Allen's eyes lingered for a moment on Finnick's helmet, which he reached up to feel.  There was a lopsided, quarter sized hole ripped into it, still hot to the touch._

_Finnick began laughing giddily.  His head ached terribly, but he was to excited to care._

_"I just got fucking shot in the head!"  He exclaimed, grinning like only someone who had just cheated death could, "That was fucking cool!"_

The gunfire suddenly became distant again.  It seemed to come from farther off, and was more sporadic than before.  The mountainous desert became the pleasant carpet landscape of Nick and Judy's apartment.  Finnick picked his head up and shifted onto his side, concern building inside him.  He was sure he had heard gunfire.

It came again, still somewhere in the distance.  Finnick stared out the sliding glass door at the city lights for a moment before checking his phone for the time.  It was two in the morning.  More gunshots rang out.  Still pinned to the couch, Finnick typed a quick text to Nick.

_Just heard gunshots.  You guys okay?_

Nick's reply came thirty seconds later.  While Finnick waited, he lay on his stomach with his face on the velvety edge of the couch, just staring at the glowing phone screen.

_All good.  We heard them too._

Finnick set his phone down on the floor, and drifted back into gunfire and the adrenaline he longed to feel again.  It had been nearly a week since his diagnosis, and so far, nothing gotten any worse than it already had.  The days were a series of highs and lows, punctuated with bouts of nausea and depression.  The prospect of spending the rest of his life like this made him feel like poison, isolated and cut off from the rest of the world by disease that had the potential to kill or ruin him.  When Finnick thought of the future, he saw nothing but Archer's disease ahead.  He kept this all to himself, though.  Nick and Judy did not need to be burdened any further by his struggle.  When asked if he was okay, Finnick would smile and reply optimistically, not wanting them to worry.  

Every morning, he had to re-engineer his mind.  Taking his guilt and putting it where it could not affect him was part of his routine, and it was exhausting beyond belief.  The rest of each day was spent trying not to think about casket he had been too injured to carry, or the cold voice of the female he had once fallen for wishing death upon him.  That was how Finnick lived in his mind; in a constant, brutal cycle of keeping guilt and regret at bay.

Instead of returning to his previous dream, Finnick sank into a turbulent collage of silent, shadowy figures, and occasionally the beautiful face of the girl he once called his daughter.

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

Zootopia glowed spectacularly in the dawn.  Wispy, orange clouds streaked across the eastern sky, reflecting the approaching sun as the city came to life.  Headlights faded, and cars filled the streets in a mad rush to greet the day.  Up above, the stars slowly vanished, and the deep blue was replaced by the ever-expanding stretch of orange light on the horizon.  The sun finally peeked over the ocean, as if it were timidly waiting permission to rise.  As it did, the millions of little windows and reflective surfaces throughout the city burst into light.  The higher the sun climbed, the brighter the world beneath it became.  

Finnick was still asleep.  He lay on his side in his underwear, and appeared to have fallen asleep in a state of restlessness.  The covers were rumpled up at his footpaws, with one paw drooping off the couch onto the sunlit carpet. 

_"No, Fin..." Nick replied softly, his right paw intertwined with Finnick's left, "you didn't do anything wrong.  He went out fighting.  He wanted you to live."_

_"Nick,"  Finnick said, his voice cracking, "Caleb's dead...and I'm still here.  If I hadn't fucked up, his daughter would still have her dad.  Rita wouldn't have to kiss a coffin goodbye."_

_Tears were clinging to the corners of his eyes, and he stared back at Nick with a stricken, haunted look of pure guilt.  He wished he had died too.  If the bullet that struck his helmet had only gone a few inches down, then he would have gotten what he deserved.  If the mortar had landed only a few feet closer, everything would have been made right.  If he could have steered his fall to the rubble, he would have.  Finnick did not care if he ever walked again.  He did not care if he died in his sleep._

_But Nick cared, and that was why he was going to live._

A soft buzzing sound permeated Finnick's sleep.  White-hot fear flooded his subconscious, and Finnick awoke with a rapidly beating heart.  When he heard the buzzing, he dreamed his dragonfly tattoo was alive, and could feel its wings moving under his skin.  A slow guitar pattern began playing, and Finnick awoke completely.

It was just his phone.  Time to face the day.

 _"I hurt myself...today,"_ came the tinny ringtone, _"to see if I still feel.  I focus...on the pain.  The only thing...that's real."_

Finnick showered in a state of limbo between sleep and consciousness.  He kept nodding off where he stood, even once having to steady himself against the tile wall, snapping awake again with a jolt of surprise.  The drive to work was dreary and cold.  As far as Finnick could see, the only part of the day he had to look forward to was working out later, but even that was bittersweet.  He was going to school full time and he had no idea why, except to feel useful. All his retirement benefits, disability, and GI Bill were sufficient enough to pay rent, bills, and live off of, but Finnick simply had no idea what to do with his time.  Every other career he would have been all for diving into was a shut door now.  Police and fire departments would not hire him because of his disability, nor would private military contractors, power companies, or any other career where he could be around other veterans.  

Everything about the college environment made him resentful and impatient.  These kids he was surrounded by were dishonest, petty, and had zero concept of basic discipline.  It drove him up the wall just listening to their conversations, or having to interact with them at all.  Their immature, superficial behavior made Finnick quietly wonder how they might react if they were suddenly dropped into the Middle East with Finnick's old unit.  Then, they just might find out what it is like to not have any control over their lives, and would quit throwing a fit at the cafeteria ladies for giving them the wrong fountain drink size.

Occasionally he would encounter another veteran like himself, or a mature young mammal with a solid plan for the future, but those were few and far between.  Others, however, seemed to outright despise him.  A group of young, seedy-looking punks in anarchist garb would throw him dirty looks every time they crossed paths.  One, a lemur with his hair dyed green had gotten into a habit of throwing food at Finnick in a attempt to provoke a reaction.  When this tactic proved ineffective, he and his friends would begin yelling insults and snarky comments about how messed up Finnick was, that his friends deserved to die, and accusing him of paling around with cops.  It was like middle school, only Finnick was an adult, and they were only adults in a legal sense.

Today, students kept glancing over their shoulders at him in class, then whispering in their friend's ears.  Finnick hardly noticed them, and focused on doodling in his notebook, once in a while catching onto little pieces of their discussions.

"He was a Marine or something...got blown up."

"Fucking fascist...fucking deserved it.  I've seen him around with that fox cop."  

"He looks so sad and lonely.  You think he'll shoot himself?  I hope he shoots himself."

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

The day went by in a blur.  After spending so much time sitting still in classrooms, Finnick was full of pent-up energy when he met with Ronny to work out.  Following Ronny's advice not to overexert himself, Finnick had been taking it slow throughout the week, and one activity in particular had helped more than anything.   He had been an accomplished swimmer nearly his whole life, having swum for miles at a stretch in the open ocean countless times in his career.  Now, the same distance in a pool was relaxing.  His hip ached mildly, but nothing really slowed him down.  It just felt good to move fluidly again.  The pool was the same one Finnick had swum in twenty five years ago.  Marine Base Camp Riley had grown and changed dramatically since then, including installing a large, brand new gym which this indoor pool was attached to, but the pool itself was the same.

Ronny and Finnick sat together on the deck with their footpaws dangling in the water, thoroughly worn out after swimming nonstop for the last hour.  The sunset filtered through the tall, wall-sized windows that lined half the room, spraying the deck with a warm, orange glow.  Ronny leaned back into it with a quiet groan, laying gingerly down on the concrete to let the refracted light warm his shivering, soaked upper body.

"Hey Fin, remember Jeremy?"  he said, drawing Finnick's gaze down towards him.

Finnick blinked water out of his eyes, and lay down next to his friend, "Did he finally retire?"

"Yep.  Twenty full years,"  Ronny replied, placing his paws underneath his head, "He wants to talk to you, too."

Finnick simply stared back, sincerely thinking Ronny was joking.  Jeremy Stuart was a legend in the Marine Recon community that Finnick had only crossed paths with once, and had been too awe-struck to say anything.  They called him the ice-wolf, for his almost eerie calmness in battle.

"You think I'm kidding?"  Ronny continued, reading Finnick's disbelieving expression, "'Cause I'm not kidding."

"Why would he even want to talk to me?"  Finnick wondered out loud.  He been a worthless boot when he met Jeremy, not worth a hardened combat veteran's time.

"He heard about your story, and he wants to help.  Wants to get you involved with the foundation."  Ronny answered.  When he had heard this news himself, it came as a ray of hope.  If anyone could reach Finnick, and get him enjoying life again, it was the ice-wolf.  

Finnick mulled this over in his head for a moment.  Guilt and shame had ruled his life for three years, and it had kept him from reaching out to his old community.  Now, he was starting to reach the conclusion that there was no where else to turn.  He needed help, and he knew it.  It was time to swallow his pride and accept it.  Finnick swished his footpaws forward and backwards in the water, sending ripples across the surface while he contemplated this revelation.  "How can I get ahold of him?"  Finnick asked, turning his head to the side so he could look Ronny in the eye.

"He'll call you,"  Ronny said, smiling, "Trust me.  He wants to help."

The sound of a door opening caused both of them to look up towards the opposite end of the pool.  Nick entered, wearing a sleeveless spandex top and workout shorts.  Over the last year and a half, the scrawny former low-life had become the athletic specimen his genetics had always intended him to be.  There had been times when Nick felt like the only reason he had stayed in shape at all was due to Finnick cracking the whip.

"What'd you do to yourself, buddy?"  Ronny exclaimed, eyeing the open scrapes on Nick's shins, "leg day?"

"Deadlifts and box jumps,"  Nick replied, ruffling Finnick's headfur, which still had little droplets of water clinging to it.  He crouched beside them, a water bottle dangling from one paw.  "Judy's inside.  Just came to check on you two."

"Emily's engaged."  Ronny suddenly said, looking at his phone.  Nick and Finnick both turned to him in surprise.

"That was fast."  Nick answered simply.  Finnick gaped.  He had dated Emily for years when they were younger, and the thought of some other male making love to her sent shivers down his spine.

"Mom told me just now."  Ronny said as he dried off, "They're having the ceremony at Zangley Air Force Base.  We're all invited."

"I love Air Force Bases,"  Finnick replied, also standing up and walking across deck to his gym bag, leaving wet, grey footprints behind, "they're so clean."  He was still numb from thought of Emily marrying another male.   _If he breaks her heart I'll kill him,_ he thought bitterly.  It would never have worked out between them.  Thankfully, the breakup had been smooth, and they had made a mutual agreement to remain close friends, which they still held.  She had even been there for Finnick when his own wife was refusing to be in the same room as him.  Still, the idea that some other male would be undressing her and doing everything to her that Finnick once did simply made him nauseous.  

"It's our day off tomorrow,"  Nick said, looking towards the door to see Judy entering also, "we're going to stock up on groceries after this.  Want to come along, Fin?"

"Fuck it."  Finnick said, drawing an annoyed smirk from Judy.  He could get away with swearing in front of Judy as long as Ronny was around, "why not."

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

Casual elevator music echoed faintly overhead as Nick, Judy, and Finnick made their way through the fairly empty grocery store.  Even after taking his medicine, the pain in Finnick's head and joints continued to increase.  It was not the worst it had ever been, and Finnick knew how to bear the pain without letting it show.  He had carried it for three whole years.  Finnick's mind was occupied with memories and stories about Jeremy Stuart, hardly listening to Nick and Judy's conversation about the recent episode of  _Holmes._

 _Esmond, Planinksi, Finnick, Caleb, and a jackal named Duncan meandered through the aisles of the Camp Pendragon commissary, each toting a twelve pack of Coorvin light.  It was Friday, and that meant the barracks was about to come alive with half-naked Marines trying to blow off as much steam as possible before Monday._ _Right as they were lining up the checkout lane where a pissed off warthog was busy with several other Marines with the same cargo, a tall timberwolf with eyes like the sea after a storm pushed a rattling grocery cart past.  In his cart, was enough beer for the entire battalion._

_"Barracks party tonight Sergeant Stuart?"  Planinksi asked casually.  Stuart's eyes flashed dangerously towards his assembled subordinates._

_"FUCK YOU, THIS IS ALL FOR ME!" He barked.  As he walked past, Finnick noticed an amused smirk forming on his features._

A familiar, leanly muscled hare squeezed past them, carrying a full shopping basket.  Finnick stood aside to allow him room, and as he did, their eyes met.  Both mammals stared at each other awkwardly, mutually trying to remember where they had met before.   The hare's eyes widened suddenly, then his muzzle opened up into an enthusiastic smile. 

“Shit, male.  It’s been awhile.”  He said, laughing,  “Did you ever get your clothes back on?”

Finnick blinked and returned the smile, realizing who he was talking to, “Glad to see you’re not holding that against me, Jacob.”

Jacob shook his head,  “Fuck, no man.  We were wasted and wound up…I was bein’ a prick, and it was years and years ago.  Can’t even be mad, actually kind of impressed.”

Nick also seemed to recognize the hare, and he extended a paw towards him to shake, “Finally someone else who thinks so.  Our mom was about ready to spank a seventeen year old."

"What am I missing?"  Judy inquired, sensing that Jacob was a former rival of sorts for Nick and Finnick.

"Jacob Vanatter."  The hare said, extending a paw towards her, "Your husband, Danny, and I were in the same class growing up."

Judy shook the hare's paw, secretly examining his build and demeanor.  He did not come across as someone who had a college education, and yet was brawny and clean cut with mildly sun-bleached fur and calloused palms that hinted at a career in outdoor labor.

"We never exactly hit off well back then."  Finnick said, placing his paws on his hips.

Jacob chuckled and ran his free paw over his ears, "We occasionally hit each other, though."  He turned to Judy, who was still waiting for an explanation, "Everyone was at a concert for our graduation party, and I got hammered drunk, thinking it would be a good idea to pick a fight with Danny here."

"Hey, I was more sloshed than you,"  Finnick added, smirking, "that's why I chased you down the street naked."

Judy glanced at Finnick with a raised eyebrow.  The more she learned about his adolescence, the less she wanted to know.  Nick however, seemed to be remembering the incident fondly, like it was the funniest moment of his life.

"Jacob started getting in Fin's face, daring him to fight.  So Fin just threw everything off and Jacob gave up."  Nick said, a laugh playing at the edge of his voice, "Chased him down the street like that.  Mom was hysterical.  Wanted to ground Fin for life."

"Took the fight right out of me,"  Jacob laughed, "I didn't want to fight a naked guy."

"So what are you doing now?"  Finnick asked.  Jacob shrugged.  

"Climbin' them cell towers, and raisin' a kid or two.  Not a bad life."

A female voice yelled his name from the end of the aisle.  Jacob jumped slightly, and quickly bid Finnick, Judy, and Nick farewell, half-jogging in the direction of his wife, who stood waiting with a toddler in the seat of a grocery cart, and an older daughter clinging to the side.  Finnick watched him go, unsure of what to think.  Encountering someone else from his life before the military felt like going through a time machine, back to when the most pressing issue on his mind was making it to his high school graduation without being expelled for random, stupid shenanigans.  That, and his and Emily's increasingly intimate friendship.

"He was nice."  Judy said, breaking the silence as they continued their shopping.  

Nick chuckled, shaking his head, "I'm glad to see he turned out alright.  Back in high school, he was the reason Fin spent half the year in detention."

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

By the time they got home, Finnick's pain had reached an all time peak.  The ride had been excruciating, and he barely paid attention to what was in front of him as he exited the car and climbed the stairs back to the apartment.  As soon as he, Nick, and Judy had finished putting away the groceries, Finnick sank to his knees in front of the couch, holding his ringing ears with his face buried in the cushion, every inch of his body an aching mess.  His head felt like it was going to crack open.

_"Help me!  Wilde, Fucking help me!"_

_Caleb's blood-curdling scream tore through Finnick's soul.  He tried to to run towards the sound, but his legs were like jelly.  He dizzily lurched to the side, and collided painfully with a wall.  The scream came again.  Inside, Finnick was crying like a baby.  His team leader was dying, and he could not find him.  The thought of what was happening just out of sight made Finnick sick to his stomach.  This was not happening.  This was a nightmare and he could not wake up._

His condition had not gone unnoticed, though.  Nick had seen how Finnick's voice gradually became more strained, and his breathing more labored overtime.  Now, he had to break his silence.  Finnick needed help.  Nick retrieved the bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet and a glass of water, and knelt down next to his brother, placing a paw in the middle of his upper back, between the shoulder blades.  Finnick's body was shaking, and at first Nick thought he was just trembling from the pain.  When he heard a sniff, he realized Finnick was crying.

"Fin..."  Nick began slowly, keeping his paw where it was.

Finnick picked his head up off the couch, and wiped his eyes with the back of his paw.  "It's just the nerves being overstimulated by my brain.  It'll pass..."  He said, accepting the pills, which he swallowed without complaint.  

Nick turned off the kitchen light, and leaned back on the couch, kicking the footstool out so he could recline comfortably.  To Finnick's surprise, Nick reached out and pulled him close.  His first instinct was to tense up as usual, but once again, he found himself relaxing.  Finnick simply could not be prideful anymore.  He snuggled up to his brother's body heat like he had as a kid, with his head resting against Nick's chest. As he settled in, the pain lessened.  Nick wrapped his right arm around Finnick, and held him tight, stroking his headfur lazily.  The throbbing in Finnick's head slowly dissipated, and soon, the pain in his nerves and joints were numbed to a dull ache, like exhaustion after a long day.  He wrapped his own arm around Nick's torso, and held on gently, listening to his brother's heartbeat.

Judy reappeared from the bathroom, and curled up next to them, dressed in her lavender shirt.  Placing an arm over Nick's shoulders, she turned on the TV and began searching for something to watch that they had not seen dozens of times already.  Settling on a new episode of  _Holmes_ , Judy set the remote down and allowed Nick to wrap his free arm around her.  Like a small family, they curled up together on the couch, all fears and worries momentarily numbed.  Occasionally Finnick cracked his eyes open, but was unable to stay awake for long.  The dim light of the screen, and Nick and Judy's quiet conversation about the movie were the best painkillers he had ever taken.

Their discussion was interrupted by Judy's text tone, and she glanced at it momentarily before tapping out a response.

"Allen finally got through to them," she said, sliding back across the cushions to Nick's warmth, "they're investigating the rest area tomorrow."

 

~<{0}>~

 

In the soft light of his of his office, Bogo moodily prepared to retire for the night.  The past week had been a rare lull in the normally hectic, violent city.  Last night, two bursts of gunfire had returned it to normal.

The sky outside Bogo's office window was clear tonight.  Despite the glow of Zootopia's urban sprawl, a few stars could still be seen from street level.  As colorful and vibrant as it looked, to some mammals the city's lights seemed dreary, with a sort of terrible beauty.  They reminded them of the dirty, dark underbelly that all the bright colors, sights, and sounds of the world hid so well.  Across the world, this city was seen as a mecca of enlightenment and culture.  Some, however, could only appreciate it in bittersweet tones.  At times it felt like a prison, or just a messy collage of animalkind packed into a concrete maze, all desperately trying to find a clear path through.

Clawhauser's voice suddenly floated through his radio, "There's someone here to see you, Chief."

Bogo closed his eyes and groaned.  This had to stop.  "Who?"  he replied, wondering why Clawhauser was being so vague.  Usually there was a name or title attached to the announcement.

"I can't say his name.  This mammal...I can't tell him no, either.  His credentials...he says you're friends with him."

A bolt of surprise ran through Bogo.  He knew who was coming.  There was a knock at the door, and before he had a chance to cross the room and answer it, the door swung open.  Bogo gaped for a split second, finding himself in a rare position of inferiority.

"Hello, Chief."  the newcomer said in a voice like granite, yet strangely gentle.  Bogo shook his paw, completely astounded.  Twenty five years.  It took twenty five years.  "It's good to see you, again, sir."  he said, stepping back.

"We're reopening the case."  The newcomer said abruptly.  Bogo's eyes widened ever so slightly for only a moment, betraying the faintest hint of concern.

"There was a reported sighting at a rest area in Columbia county.  The local ZBI office there did not take it seriously until we showed them this."

He held his phone out for Bogo to see, who stared at the screen in numb disbelief.  If this was real...

"The rest area is being searched tomorrow."  The newcomer said, pocketing his phone,  "If they find anything to confirm it, the president is going to be briefed.  S.M.U.'s are already staging, and any resources you need, we can provide.  The threat level is being raised anyway."

Bogo took in this news with his characteristic stoicism.  He had been briefed on what to do about this before, but he just hoped it the day would never come.

"There's one more thing,"  The newcomer added, "his target lives with two of your officers."

The memory of a tattooed, feisty-looking fennec laughing and joking with Nick Wilde at his graduation surfaced in Bogo's mind.  He stared back at the newcomer, who understood immediately with faint smirk.

"I have protected Daniel Wilde for a whole quarter century,"  He said, his tone dry.  "but now I need your help."


	6. Deep Down in My Heart

The flickering, florescent light of the TV screen finally vanished, leaving the apartment dark again.  Judy set the remote down, feeling utterly spent as she carefully extracted herself from under Nick's left arm, which was heavy and limp.  Once off the couch, she crept across the carpet towards the kitchen, where she filled up a glass of water, taking care not to turn the water on too loud so as not to wake up Nick and Finnick, who were still fast asleep on the couch.  Finnick was wrapped snugly in Nick's right arm, with his head bobbing gently on his chest with every breath.  The couch cushion descended only a tiny bit when Judy climbed back on it, and Nick opened his eyes.

"Whatcha doing?"  he groaned, extending his left arm for her to curl up under.

"Drink of water."  was the whispered reply as Judy resumed her position, while Nick tickled the side of her belly with her fingers.  Judy suppressed a giggle, and she immediately took hold of Nick's jaw, drawing him in close.  Her supple lips met his, and Nick's left paw immediately began running down her back.  When his paws reached her tail, Judy shook her head.

"Tommorow, Nick."  she whispered, "Fin needs you right now."  

Nick blinked and flashed an understanding smile, then glanced down at Finnick, who was sleeping calmly, without an ounce of restlessness or pain.  Judy leaned her head on Nick's left shoulder, and within seconds, she was asleep again.

The next day went by lazily.  Taking advantage of the little time they had away from work, Nick and Judy slept in late.  Finnick, however, was a habitual early riser, and by the time he had returned from the gym, they were only just getting up.  After downing a gallon of coffee, Nick and Judy had insisted Finnick join them on a trip downtown to meet up with one of Judy's sisters, who was going to college there.  

Few things made Finnick more uncomfortable than large, urban crowds.  Partly due to his small stature, every noise and scent in the mall and its surrounding area seemed amplified by a thousandfold.  Several times, he would excuse himself from their table just to duck into the bathroom for a few seconds of relative solitude, away from the roaring din of hundreds of mammals walking and talking at once.  Finally, right as they arrived back at the apartment, Finnick's phone rang.  With shaking fingers, he hit the answer button.

"What's up, Devil Dog?"  came a gruff voice, tinged with the edginess of a secretly jovial personality, "You thought Markin was full of shit when he said I'd call, didn't you?"

"Good afternoon, Sir."  Finnick replied, feeling like a beggar speaking to a king.

"Talk to me, son,"  Stuart said kindly, "it's okay, I don't bite."

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

The late afternoon sun sprayed Finnick's urban view with bright light, which despite the chilly air, had a profound warming effect.  He sat outside on the balcony, curled up in a deck chair doing homework with his laptop on the small table in front of him.  

The sliding door opened noisily, and Judy appeared, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt.  Finnick's eyes widened, and his face broke into an excited smile.  Without hesitation, he got up from his chair, and threw his arms around her midsection, burying his face in her like a kindergartener being picked up from school.  Judy kneeled down so she could return the hug, holding him tightly to her, and running his fingers through his headfur.  

"Good day?"  she asked, releasing him and scraping the second chair closer so she could join him.

"Couldn't be better."  Finnick replied with an apologetic smile.

Judy returned the expression compassionately, unsure of how to probe Finnick's mind.  "You were on the phone for a while there,"  she observed, "who were you talking to, if you don't mind me asking?"

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, "Just someone from my old unit.  A bit of a legend who just retired.  He wants me to get involved with some stuff with veterans."

"Like what kind of stuff?"  Judy asked.

"Outreach, helping active duty and retired Marines, community projects, getting guys like us who are struggling back into the world."  

Finnick spoke in a tone bearing a rare hint of concealed excitement as he saved the essay he had been writing for one of his classes, and closed the laptop.  

"So, Judy,"  Finnick said, leaning back in his chair, and looking out at the sunset, "I'm being invited to speak at my old base in a few months, and I'm supposed to give a speech or something about my experiences, but..."  He trailed off and paused for a moment before continuing.  

"For some reason I don't know what I would talk about."

Judy regarded him quizzically, taking a sip of her coffee, "Just talk about what happened, Fin."

"It's not that simple,"  Finnick replied, "my experience with the Marine Corps isn't anything special.  It's like asking me to relive the best and worst days of my life, and give it some kind of redeeming value.  I just don't know what there is to say, really."

"How come?"  Judy asked.

Finnick sighed, and looked back towards the skyline, the wind ruffling his headfur.  He was not sure how to answer even this.

"The military can take the fun out of almost anything.  They can even make a vacation suck.  There's only two things that are aren't overrated, though:  your buddies, and the few times you get to do your job.  The memories make it all worthwhile.  In the Marine Corps especially, you can bet that wherever you are, it's always gonna be some fucked up, nasty craphole.  There's just some really dark shit that happens that's just not for general conversation.  The thing is, a huge part of me was, and is still addicted to really fucked up shit."

Judy listened like she always did, deciding not to take any issue to his language this time.  If it helped him open up, she was okay with it for now.

 Finnick paused and scratched at his shoulder, knowing Judy's experiences as a police officer were often more personal, and close to home.  His own trial by fire had been in a faraway land against a foreign enemy he had spent half his adolescence looking forward to get an opportunity to kill.  Yet, no matter how terrible things were, and how many times he projectile vomited outside the barracks, or was constipated for days on end without bathing, Finnick never had any desire to leave.  He continued speaking, his voice casual and dry as if he were talking about fun weekend.

"The first time I got shot at, I was so excited I almost wet myself.  A few minutes into it, I got shot in the helmet, and I couldn't stop laughing.  A few days later, I shot a dude in the grape from twenty feet away, and he burst open like a pinata.  I don't feel nothin'.  We were told that it's not a sin to kill if there's no enjoyment, but I still wonder deep down:  is indifference the same thing?"  

Finnick paused, staring at the ground before bringing his eyes back to Judy's, "When I think about it, most of my time in the Marine Corps was spent being bored, worried, and afraid."  He looked up, and scratched his chin.  

"And drunk," he added, "I was drunk a _lot_.  The truth is, the cool stuff made up only ten percent of the job.  Only a small subculture in this country really ever understands the rest.  It's not about being a hard-ass, it's about heart.  It's about the guys to my left and right, and getting them home, because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I failed them.  The more fucked up things were, the more I loved those guys."

There was a quiet, almost aged tone in Finnick's voice that made Judy want to hug him again.  Before she could make good on the impulse, Finnick continued talking.

"Elena was a smart girl, but she fucked up when she married me.  See, I was a piece of shit.  I thought I was bein' such a good husband and father when I was home.  Like, Lucy trusted me and called me her dad, but none of that mattered in the end.  I was still a sociopathic piece of shit.  Mom's been through hell because of me.  She's okay now, but I almost broke her.  Her worst fear almost came true."

Sirens echoed across the city, interrupting Finnick's memory lane, while Judy listened patiently as ever.  He lifted his rump off the seat for a moment, and retrieved his wallet.  Fishing through it, he pulled out a faded, folded up piece of notebook paper, which he unraveled.  

"I wrote this on my first deployment after marrying Elena, just as a simple reminder of what I had to go home to."  He said, realizing that Judy was the first mammal he had ever revealed this to.  Finnick read aloud, his voice steady and casual.

"I've learned that here's two kinds of decisions here: bad and worse.  There is no right answer.  We're not the great mammals you take us for.  Yesterday, we accidentally killed some kids the enemy was using as live shields, and I had to be okay with it.  Everything reminds me of you, but I have to put it out of my mind.  Instead, I keep you and our daughter locked away deep down in my heart, where I know I can always find you."

Finnick paused, regarding the paper with an incredulous look.  "You think that's too dark?"  He asked, looking back at Judy.

"I think," Judy answered, smiling encouragingly, "you already know what to talk about."

A sudden realization hit him, and he sat in silence for a moment.  Just by trying to explain why he did not know how to tell his story, he had actually told it to Judy.  He pondered the thought, casually tapping the rim of his empty mug with one finger.  The medicine was wearing off, and his head was beginning to ache again.  

"Am I a good mammal or a bad mammal?"  he asked, suddenly worried that he had given too many private details, or rambled on about things he should not have.

Judy simply looked at him with her usual motherly demeanor, and spoke in a tone that held a hint of sternness,  "Fin...we've all done things we regret.  Everything you've told me you feel guilty about, it's in the past.  Trust me.  I spoke the words that set off months of unrest and rioting in this city. You remember what it was like: staying out of sight, being followed, and always looking over your shoulder.  That was my fault.  There are even several mammals who blame me for losing loved ones, and they're right.  It is my fault."

Finnick watched her thumb traced the ring on her finger, feeling horrible for never considering what kind of guilt and shame Judy might still be dealing with.  He had spent weeks hiding from the public because of that, never once thinking about how Officer Hopps felt.

"I have you to thank as much as Nick, though."  Judy said, "What I did broke his heart.  For once, he just felt a sense of purpose in his life, and I ruined it for him in a heartbeat.  After having so many doors shut in his face, he finally saw the light, only for me to snuff out.  You led me back to him, when you had every right and reason to flip me off and tell me to blow my brains out."

These words were met with a stunned silence.

"I can never thank you enough, Fin."  She said, sincerity radiating from her voice.  Finnick blushed and smiled weakly back.

"Nick carries some guilt, too,"  Judy continued, "He doesn't want me telling you this, but he thinks he abandoned you for a while.  When he ran off to the academy, he feels like he just up and left you when you needed him the most, and all he did for weeks leading up to that was exploit and humiliate you.  To this day, he still thinks he's been a horrible brother.  Believe me, Fin.  I've had this same sort of conversation with Nick before."

  _Try everything..._

Finnick jumped.  Judy blushed, then retrieved her phone from her pocket.

"Hey, Jamie."  she said, "Yes, I'm going."  Finnick picked his laptop up off the table, and made his way inside.  A soft snoring sound came from Nick and Judy's bedroom, and when he glanced in, he saw that Nick was asleep again, sprawled out on top of the covers like he was making a snow angel.  As Finnick was putting his laptop back in its case, his phone buzzed, and seeing that the text was from Ronny, he read it in full.

_Teresa's home if you still want that massage._

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

"Just relax, sweetheart."

"I  _am_ relaxing."

"No, you're not.  You're fighting me, and that's why it hurts.  Just let yourself go limp."

"Like this?"

"That's better."

Finnick lay shirtless and prone on Ronny's couch, while Teresa kneaded at the tightly knotted muscles of his back and shoulders.  The Markins' home was a simple, one-story suburban dwelling with a small living room and carpeted floors, along with a sliding back door that led out to a small, fenced-in backyard.  Something he always took notice to about this place was the cozy, wooden scent that was both relaxing and invigorating at the same time. It reminded him of his childhood.   

At first, he had been so unable to loosen up that whenever Teresa dug in with her fingers, he would tense up and instinctively flinch away from her.  Doing his best to genuinely relax this time, he closed his eyes and let Teresa work her way along his lower back, smoothing out knot after knot.  Before long, he was shuddering from how indescribably good it felt, as opposed to the usual pain.  

Nearby, Nick and Ronny sat at the kitchen counter, sharing a beer and chatting animatedly while Teresa massaged Finnick.   Judy was having a girls' night with her sister and some of their old companions, which left Nick with an opportunity to have male conversations with the male friends in his life.

"Ran into Duke again this week,"  Nick said, leaning back in his chair, "little creep was acting like I insulted his mom when all I said was "Hi"."

"Well, you did threaten to have him iced."  Ronny replied with a chuckle.  

Nick smirked, tapping his finger absentmindedly on the marble countertop, "That was a couple years ago.  I thought he'd be grateful we didn't turn him in."

A soft cry emanated from the hallway.  Ronny quickly got up from his chair, and made his way down the hall to a room with an open door.  Nick waited quietly for his return while he drained the last of his beer.  There was a relieved look on Ronny's face when he came back, and he sat back down wearily.

"It's not the frequency I mind,"  Ronny mused as he looked over Nick's shoulder and down the hall, "it's the timing.  It's like she can sense when we'ere trying to do adult things, and she picks that exact second to do baby things."

Nick laughed good-naturedly, "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, when we were in Bunnyburrow for Gideon's wedding last summer, Judy's oldest brother kept interrupting us.  Like, half a dozen times in one weekend."

"He loves telling this one,"  came Finnick's muffled voice from the couch.  Nick flashed him an amused smile before continuing.  

"Judy and I were in the middle of some "private time" in our room," he said, "when we heard someone yell "SURPRISE!", right before Pete jumps out from the damn closet. _"_

Ronny and Nick snorted into their beers, and Teresa had to cease massaging Finnick for a moment so he could stop laughing as well.  Even she could not resist a faint smirk.

"Judy's parents didn't take it seriously!"  Nick gasped out, "They thought he just took a hard fall on his bike, when I actually threw him out our window."

 "From what you've told me about your wife's family, that sounds fairly par of the course for them."  Ronny put in with a final cough into his arm.

Nick nodded in agreement, "They're a lot more weird than Judy makes it seem like.  Fin found out more than he ever wanted to know, didn't you, bud?"

"Don't remind me."  Finnick answered grimly without picking his face up from the couch.  "That almost ruined the whole weekend."

"Made you think about your first time."  Nick laughed, but Finnick was only able to manage a weak chuckle.   _Seriously, don't remind me._

Talking about sex made him uncomfortable.  Not because he had never done it, but because he knew it would never happen again.  Still, by comparison to Nick and Ronny, Finnick's experience was minimal.  He had only gone all the way a few times with Emily, and Elena had refused to be in the same room as him after couple of years.  Those were the only two relationships he ever had.  

Now, Finnick knew that no female would ever want him like this.  So many things that he had once looked forward to in life, were now virtually impossible.  Bouncing grandchildren on his lap: that would never happen.  Changing diapers, and watching his own flesh and blood grow up: that was out.  Marrying again, and experiencing life with a soulmate: out of the question.

Nick and Judy had thankfully been respectful and discreet about their own business behind closed doors, but Finnick still felt guilty.  Whenever he heard their shower running, or woke up at night to hear them on the other side of the wall, he would feel as if he were intruding on the private life they deserved so much.  They seemed to recognize Finnick's isolation and anxiety over it, and would continuously reassure him that he would find someone, that it was not out of reach.  Finnick wanted to believe them, but everywhere he went, females acted like he had the plague.  They would flat out ignore him, or look at him as if he were back luck to be around, and the ones at school would actively avoid being near him, usually making snide comments just loud enough to hear.  At times, it seemed to Finnick like the only females who did not openly despise him were either family or the spouses of friends.

Feeling the subtle increase of tension in Finnick's muscles and nerves, Teresa glanced up and frowned at Nick and Ronny, then back down at Finnick.  When they took their conversation out to the back deck to enjoy the warmer-than-usual night, she paused while kneading his tricep.

"Does it bother you when they talk like that?"  she asked compassionately, echoing Finnick's thoughts, who shrugged.

"A little."  he replied casually, but when Teresa raised her eyebrows knowingly, he relented.  "Okay,"  he added, "a lot."

Satisfied that she was getting past Finnick's shell, Teresa sighed understandingly while she continued kneading.  "What, because think it can never happen again?"  she asked gently.

Finnick nodded and turned his head to the side so he could see her,  "Who the _hell_  would want me?  he asked bitterly.

"Why _wouldn't_ anyone want you?"  Teresa asked with an intuitive glance.

Finnick sighed and closed his eyes, not sure how to describe what he felt.  "Because I'm a manic-depressive sociopath with a permanent brain disorder?"  was his careful response.

"I think you're selling yourself short, sweetie."  Teresa replied as she moved along his shoulders, "trust me, you're not as bad as you think you are.  You've just got yourself so convinced that there's nothing attractive about you, but we all know that's not true."

"How?"  Finnick asked skeptically, still not reassured.  Teresa's left paw took hold of the side of his head, just beneath the ear, and gently turned it so he was looking directly at her.

"Fin,"  she began firmly, but keeping her soft tone, "first off, you've got to quit talking yourself down like that.  Second, who cares what a few females think of you?  If they can't see what everyone else in your life sees, they're not worth your time.  Nick, Judy, Ronny, Allen, and I know the truth: you're a strong, smart sweetheart who cares, and you can make a girl feel safe around you.  You might think you've stopped caring, but you really do.   Fin, you care so much, you feel like you'll bleed to death with the pain of it.  I can't think of a reason why a female wouldn't want you."

These words left Finnick somewhat stunned, like a child who had just been scolded.  "Sorry, I-"  Finnick began, but lost his train of thought.

Teresa's firm expression vanished, and the kind, motherly one returned as she resumed kneading Finnick's back.  "We've all been there, Fin,"  she said reassuringly, "it's okay.  Even Judy came to me asking for advice."

"Judy...what?"  Finnick inquired, picking his head up to look at Teresa quizzically.

She nodded, "It was when she and Nick were first engaged.  Poor dear was terrified that she wouldn't be good enough for him."

"I thought Judy had a boyfriend before Nick."  Finnick said.  

Teresa shook her head, "She had a little fling when she was twenty one.  She doesn't like it being common knowledge, so don't go spreading it around, but Judy was no blushing virgin when she got to Nick."

Teresa's right paw hit one last knot, and Finnick winced, his breath quickening as she smoothed it out.  Finally, he let out a sigh of relief when the pain dissipated, and his fists began clenching and unclenching habitually.

"Thank you _so much_ , Teresa."  he breathed.  

She smiled and patted his back to signal that she was done, "Are we going to be more positive now, sweetie?"

"M-hmm."  was the reply.  Finnick sat up and retrieved his shirt from the armrest, then put it on.  The soft cry came again, and Teresa disappeared down the hallway, leaving Finnick alone in the living room until Nick and Ronny decided to come back inside.  After depositing his beer bottle in the recycling bin, Ronny noticed his friend's quiet contemplation, and sat down next to him with a soft sigh.

"I told you Teresa was good."  he said, while Nick stood at the hallway entrance and greeted Ronny's daughter.  The baby ferret rested on her mother's hip and clasped Nick's finger, staring up at him like she was valiantly attempting to recognize where she had seen him before.  

Finnick nodded in response, his back feeling more relaxed that it had in years.  He replayed Teresa's words of encouragement over and over again in his head, reflecting on her firm, yet gentle way of getting through to him.  Throughout the rest of the evening, he quietly put the topic to rest, focused on just being in the moment, and staying positive like Teresa had said.  It was the one way he could see to improve his situation mentally, and even if he never got to experience life like Nick and Ronny had been able to, it was better than resigning himself to a lifetime of isolation.

"Hey, Fin!"  Nick said from the hallway, drawing Finnick out of his thoughts, "remember what happened right after your first time?"  

Finnick smirked at the sight of Teresa laughing and cleaning Carly's vomit off his brother's shirt.  Nick returned the smirk apologetically.  Ronny suppressed a snort of laughter.

"Don't remind me,"  Finnick replied, his smirk turning to a grin, "Emily didn't talk to me for a week."

 

~<{0}>~

 

It was past midnight when Finnick was awoken by familiar footsteps.   Sitting up, he stared into the dark apartment at a small figure by the door.  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, his heart burst with joy and worry when he recognized her.

"What's wrong, Lucy?" he said out loud, "It's okay, you can talk to me."

"I can't sleep, Daddy."  Lucy said as she stepped out into the light from the streetlamps.  She was as beautiful as Finnick remembered her, with long locks of golden headfur, held back by a barrette.  Her flowery nightdress fell to her knees, and she stood timidly in place, unsure of whether or not to proceed.  Finnick swung his legs off the sofa and held his arms out to her in invitation.  A relived smile broke on Lucy's face, and the young fennec ran forwards him, where she threw her arms around her father's neck as he scooped her up.  Hugging Lucy tightly, Finnick's heart soared.  He could feel the life flow through her, and hear her breath, exactly like he remembered.  When he kissed her on the cheek, and she giggled brightly.

"You can lie down with me, sweetheart,"  Finnick said quietly, stroking her silky headfur.  Lucy nodded, and climbed up onto the sofa with her father, who lay back down so she could settle down on his stomach.  Once she was situated, Finnick pulled the covers back over them, and wrapped one paw around her back, while the other remained in her headfur.  Lucy spoke again, her voice quiet and timid.

"I had a dream, too."  she said.

Finnick smiled reassuringly, " And what was it about?"

"There was a long road, daddy.  Lots of streetlights." Lucy replied.

There was a distant, otherworldly tone to her voice that stirred worry deep down.   Ignoring the feeling, he continued stroking her headfur, feeling her breath on his chest.

"What kind of road, sweetie?" he inquired.

Lucy clung tighter to him, "A road to nowhere.  Dark, and lots of streetlights."

"It was just a dream,"  Finnick replied gently, "okay?  You're safe now."

Lucy's eyes were nearly identical to his own, and they reflected the outside light wonderfully.  She smiled warmly, then leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.  He felt her lips touch his flesh, as well as the boundless faith and love she held for him.

"Okay,"  she replied in a half-whisper, "I love you, daddy.  I can go back to sleep now."

"Hmm,"  Finnick murmured, closing his eyes, "I love you too...Lucy?"  

The weight on top of him was gone.  His eyes snapped open, and to his horror, Lucy was nowhere to be seen.  Frantically, he began feeling around for her, even though she was plainly not on or near the couch.  Getting up, Finnick desperately searched the vicinity for his daughter, but saw no one.  Just Nick and Judy's dark apartment. 

No.  This was all wrong.  She had been here, he had felt her body heat, and heard her talk.  It had been real, it  _had_ to have been.  Finnick called her name again, and again, but Lucy was gone.

But even as these thoughts of denial ran amok in Finnick's mind, he quickly realized that his own mind had just played an extremely cruel trick on him.  Miserable sobs of guilt and loneliness started wrenching themselves from his throat, and his knees hit the carpet with a dull thud.  Cursing himself to hell, he bent over and bawled into the carpet, wishing he could die also.  Then, he could find Lucy.

A glowing, white light filtered its way through Finnick's teary eyes, and he sat back up onto his knees.  Wiping his face off with his paw, he saw that the light was coming from the other side of the front door, and was glowing through the cracks.  He narrowed his eyes in trepidation and curiosity, unsure of what to do.  Before he could react, or wake up Nick and Judy, the door swung open of its own accord.  Icy terror filled Finnick's heart, and his mouth fell open.

Caleb stood in the doorframe, clad in the full battle kit he had died in.  The digital desert fatigues were faded and covered in old bloodstains that had been there fro months into the deployment, and he still had his sunglasses on.  Underneath them, there was no life.  His fallen leader was pale and cold as death, and his fur was matted and bloody.  His sightless eyes stared directly at Finnick, who cowered on the floor, paralyzed into silence.  Slowly at first, Caleb began walking towards him, taking shuffling, yet deliberate footsteps that shook the floor.

Finnick's jaw hung open as he scrambled backwards, numb all over as Caleb advanced on him.  He tried to call for Nick and Judy, but no sound came out, and he backed into the wall underneath the framed pictures of his family, which bore images of him and Nick when they were young and fearless.  The best days of his life.  Now, Finnick did not have the strength or the will to get up, fight, or run.

A second mammal followed behind Caleb, this one a tall red fox.  His fatigues were of an older style, but he, like Caleb, was bloody and pale as death.  His eyes however, glowed ominously, and he stood in silent observation from behind.

"Dad...please..."  Finnick sobbed.  Julian Wilde did not move a muscle, and continued to watch coldly as Caleb knelt to throttle his adopted son.

"Caleb..."  he finally gasped out, his voice cracking, "I'm sorry..."

Caleb paid no heed, and slowly bore down with both paws outstretched.  They closed around Finnick's throat, and he shuddered violently.  Cold as ice, Finnick felt them tighten, and knew the last thing he would ever feel was the putrid breath of the mammal he had failed to save.  His dragonfly tattoo was burning like fire on his back, and in the final seconds before the world went dark, he heard a low voice growl in his head like a stone rolling across solid granite, while the vicious buzzing of a thousand insect wings clawed at his ears.

_"Fin!"_

He saw the dark road Lucy had mentioned, lined by streetlights.  The world around it was pitch black, and it went on forever into the void, and standing directly in the center, was a strange red fox in a filthy, old-fashioned travelling cloak.  He seemed to stare longingly at Finnick, like he knew him somehow.

_"Fin!"_

There was a sudden rushing noise, and the road seemed to race backwards, like Finnick was flying away from it.  The strange fox grew increasingly smaller, until the entire road vanished in a burst of brilliant light.

"Fin!  Wake up!  You're dreaming!"

It was like leaving the womb again.  All the sights and sounds of life flooded his senses too hard, and too loudly, so Finnick cringed and curled up into the warmth of his brother's body.  Nick and Judy were awake, and the kitchen light was on.  Nick cradled him in his lap, dressed only in boxers, and desperately trying to bring Finnick back to consciousness.  Judy knelt beside the sofa, also in her underwear, and was gently stroking his forehead.

"You okay?"  Judy asked apprehensively.  Finnick shook his head in reply as he instinctively searched the vicinity for Lucy.

"What happened?"  he asked in a raspy voice.

"You were crying in your sleep bud."  Nick replied, "Fell off the couch and started crawling backwards on the floor."

Embarrassment filled Finnick's mind, and he sighed bitterly.  He tried to get up off of Nick's lap, but Judy stopped him with one extended paw.

"No, Fin.  I don't think you should sleep alone right now."  she said.  Finnick nodded submissively, but was inwardly humiliated.  He did not want help, or to need it just to sleep through the night.  He allowed Nick to set him back down on his print in the couch, but as Judy was retrieving a blanket for her and Nick, an unsettling realization crept up within Finnick's insides.

"Imafrowp."  came Finnick's voice, muffled by his blanket.  

"What's that, bud?"  Nick replied from the kitchen.  Finnick rotated his face so that his muzzle was free of the pillow.

"I'm gonna throw up."

Thirty seconds later, Nick knelt over Finnick as he retched violently.  It felt like lava was forcing itself up from his stomach, all the way to his mouth.  Never in all the times he had puked after a night of drinking, or had food poisoning, had it ever hurt as much as it did now.  As soon as it looked like the nausea would momentarily subside, he would retch again until dizziness started setting in.

Judy listened anxiously from the kitchen as scanned the medicine cabinet, and when Nick suddenly appeared, she faltered at the worried look on his face.

"There's blood, carrots...and he's passing out."  he said quickly, before racing back to the bathroom.  Without missing a beat, Judy snatched her phone from the counter, and called 911.

Finnick barely noticed Nick taking his pulse, or holding a damp towel to his forehead.  By the time the paramedics arrived, his surroundings were a dull mix of sights and sounds, like they were after he had been shot in the helmet.  Occasionally, he would regain consciousness during the ambulance ride, just enough to feel two things: the taste of vomit and blood in his throat, and Nick's paw clasping his own.  A warm, wet sensation began trickling down Finnick's back, and he was instantly brought back in time.  The soft, reassuring voice of the lioness leaning over him sounded like the exhausted breathing of seventy mammals in fatigues.

 

~<{0}>~

 

  _Water trickled down Finnick’s back, causing him to shudder violently.  He poured the rest of his canteen in to his mouth, but his aim was so poor that he half of it still spilled onto the sides of his mouth and down his front, where it almost instantly evaporated.  Sweaty, grimy mammals in fatigues all around him lounged against rucksacks, utterly spent.  They had been training nonstop for months now in a constant state of pre-deployment workup, but as exhausted as they were, there was a sense of relief among them today.  This was their last training week.  Tomorrow, they would be leaving this desolate hellhole and going back overseas right into another one._

_The Marines around Finnick were almost exclusively canines.  Wolves, coyotes, jackals, foxes, dingos and the occasional raccoon or fennec made up the overwhelming majority of the battalion.  The reasons for this population dynamic were simple: the Marine Corps had been for centuries a sort of refuge for canines and other predators that the rest of society deemed untrustworthy and prone to violence.  It had evolved into a sort of hereditary profession.  Nearly everyone was the offspring of a Marine, who was in turn the son of Marine.  For those in Finnick’s battalion who had kids, they were almost expected to bring them up with the intention of joining when they were old enough._

_They functioned almost like a cult, and worshipped their commandant as if he were a god.  In the eyes of most of society, they were a band of immature, tattooed, cutthroat renegades with rude, crude senses of humor that had no place in a civilized world.  To everyone else’s shock and disgust, they embraced that stereotype with open arms, and took pride in their status as a bunch of dumb canines with nothing better to do than learn to kill.  When boiled down to the bare bone basics, the whole point of their training was exactly that:  to kill.  This fact shocked and unnerved most mammals, but it was the simple truth of their world._

_A series of frantic shouts came from somewhere to Finnick’s left, and mammals all around frantically dove into a bag on the sides of their legs.  Finnick instantly shut his eyes, held his breath, and snatched the Kevlar helmet from his head.  With clumsy, gloved fingers, he stretched the gas mask over his face, desperately pulling the straps over his ears.  They dug painfully into his skin, but he paid no heed, and quickly returned his Kevlar to where it was.  Once he had a good, tight seal, he opened his eyes and began to breathe again.  It smelled like sweaty rubber, as well as his own awful breath._

_As he pulled the hood of his heavy, bulky MOPP suit over his helmet, Finnick noticed several autoinjector syringes that had been with the mask had flown out in his desperation to put it on.   After some rapid Velcro-snapping and drawstring-tightening, there was a frantic run to cover in wobbly galoshes.  He nearly collided with another mammal as he dove into a shallow pit in the dusty ground.  They lay there with their faces inches apart, trapped in their own personal claustrophobia to wait for the order that would free them._

_Right as Finnick was beginning to dwell on how much saliva was building in his mouth, a muffled shout came from somewhere outside, and the masks came off.  The warm air that filled his lungs felt like a cool breeze, and he spat on the ground.  After spending six whole months wearing these suits last year, he thought he had seen the worst.  Now, he was almost wishing an actual gas attack would happen, just so the suits would not seem so pointless._

_"Fuck it."  He thought as he removed his rubber gloves with shaking fingers, "we better get to fuck shit up_ _, because this is fucking stupid."_

_Caleb, the mammal he had almost collided with suddenly stooped.  He held a paw to his mouth for a moment, his eyes wide before lunging towards the other side of the pit.  Finnick stopped where he was, and waited while the coyote emitted a sickening retching noise.  He retched a few more times before straightening up, a satisfied grin on his face._

_“I told you not to put a dip in!”  Finnick said, shaking his head.  Caleb wiped his mouth with the back of his paw, and joined his companions at the hooch._

_“Fucking swallowed it, Wilde,” The coyote rasped, “I’ve always wondered what would happen if I swallowed it.”_

_“Uh, you puke straight tar,” Finnick replied with a look of amused disbelief, “no eating the tobacco, devil donut.”_

_“You ate a crayon because your old team leader told you to.”  Caleb shot back with a laugh, “Doc thought you had a mental disorder.”_

_Both Finnick and Caleb glanced over at a red fox wearing expensive sunglasses, who flashed a devilish grin when he saw them looking.  Placing a rectal thermometer between his teeth like a rose, the corpsmammal wiggled his eyebrows mischievously._

_“Glad to see he’s got our backs,” Finnick mused as they settled back down into the webbed shelter, “and other body parts.”_

_Several hours later, the battalion reached their final stopping point for the night.  At first, this was greeted with dread.  The more senior members of the battalion knew it meant they would likely be stepping off again after only a few hours of restless sleep.  However, to everyone's surprise, they were given the rare assurance of a full night this time.  Finnick knew that was subject to change, and as usual, had ingested too many stimulants to sleep just yet._ _He and Allen lay side by side on their backs, with woobies draped over them, both desperately attempting their best remedy for insomnia._

_"Get this,"  Allen said quietly, but with an edge of hyperactivity, "Nilait has a population of about eight thousand.  It's the poorest fucking town in the midwest.  During our senior prom, my dad burned the school down over a meth debt the principle owed him.  A few hours later, I was busy in a cornfield with my girlfriend, when dad turns up and lights the field up, too.  A few days after that, he broke into my girlfriend's house, and killed her."_

  _Finnick listened without expression.  Allen's topics of conversation were unnerving, but deeply personal for him.  Not to mention, they helped lull Finnick to sleep by some reason or another._

_"So,"  Finnick inquired, "what did you do to your dad?"_

_The raccoon flashed his characteristic cartoon-villain grin.  There was an almost maniacal glint in his eyes that could either be the effect of too many energy drinks, or something deeper.  "_ _Nothing,"  he replied softly, "he was killed before I got home later that week when our house got raided. Turned out, he'd been running a prostitution ring for years."_

_Planinski's marginally more dulcet voice interrupted Allen, "Enough horror stories about whatever trailer trash town you're from.  We've got a search and rescue mission."_

_Allen and Finnick shifted onto their backs to look up at the puma, who stood shakily as if he might pass out right where he was.  Seeing his two companions' dumbfounded stares, Planinski sighed wearily.  "_ _A POG went for a combat jack, and he never came back,"  he said, "his legs probably locked up on him, or something."_

_Finnick blinked.  This had to be a dream.  Reluctantly, he and Allen pushed their woobies down, and clambered to their footpaws to don an extra layer and grab their moonbeams.  Allen caught sight of Planinski regarding him strangely, and he cracked open a dip can._

_"What?"  He asked casually, shrugging while his finger wiggled around in his lower lip, "I just want one more dip before we all die."_

 

_~ <{0}>~_

 

Eight mammals stood in the dim, florescent light of a small room with a long, ornate table in the center, facing a TV screen the size of the wall.   The door opened, and a hard-faced Siberian tiger entered, drawing the gazes of everyone assembled.

"Mr.  Esmond?  Would you like to begin?"  he rasped, in a breathy, throat-cancer voice that did not match his gruff appearance.  The raccoon closest to the screen stepped out in front of it, wearing a sharp, black suit and tie.  Without missing a beat, Allen laid out the news that would not leave this room.

"The sighting is confirmed.  Security footage from the rest area was examined, and we have reason to believe that he's surfaced again."

There was a silent exchange of horrified thoughts throughout the room, but no one spoke.  The Siberian Tiger raised his eyebrows.

"Alonzo, go ahead and play it."  Allen said to a hyena next to him, who stepped forward and pointed a remote towards the screen, which immediately displayed the view of six security cameras.  A fennec strode into view, his paws thrust into the pocket of his black hoodie, and wearing a black and red striped beanie.  He disappeared into the male's restroom, and for a full minute, nothing moved.  A bunny in a purple downy jacket made her way to the male's restroom, and was two feet from the door when it burst open.  The fennec collided with her midsection, and there was a brief conversation before they departed side by side.  Thirty seconds later, something shifted in the dark corners of two of the cameras.

A hooded figure seemed to materialize out of the night, striding into view outside the male's restroom.  It stood still as a statue, watching the departing vehicle.  Slowly, it turned its searing, poisonous gaze up to the nearest camera, and the screen suddenly cut to grey.

Chills went up the spine of every mammal in the room.  Allen rewound the footage, and paused on the exact moment the figure was staring up at the screen.  The Siberian Tiger bore a grim look of understanding.  

 "Is this who you two saw that night?"  he rasped to the hyena and a dingo beside him.

Alonzo and Kaliroy nodded simultaneously.  "The very same, sir."  Kaliroy replied.

"Esmond, you said our friends across the Atlantic have been doing some digging as well?"  The Siberian Tiger rasped.  Allen nodded grimly.

"They've been closing in on it for almost a decade, but they're now ready to hit the place.  Their squadron is waiting on ours to arrive before we step off."

 "Very well," the tiger replied, "tell them they have the green light.  I'll discuss it with PM."  Turning his icy gaze back to the assembled mammals, he addressed them as a group.  "We all know what we need to do."  He said ominously, "And Chief Bogo..."  he regarded the water buffalo with his characteristic piercing stare,  

"You know what to do."

Bogo nodded in acknowledgement, and the tiger exited the room, followed by most of its occupants.  Last to leave were Kaliroy, Alonzo, Bogo, and Allen.  One, tall, burly jaguar remained with them.  Bogo sighed and looked back towards the face they had prayed they would never see again.

"So that's it then?"  he said, "they actually found it?"

Allen sighed and glanced back up at the screen, examining the way the figure's toxic stare seemed to radiate through time and space into the rooom.  "Yep,"  he said, "They were confident it was the right place...they found Ramiel's blood."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get back to this when Growing Young is finished.


	7. Fields of Gold

The morning came far to early.  After a quick workout, Nick and Judy both arrived at the precinct one station earlier than usual, just to get their thoughts together before the day officially began.  They chatted animatedly like they always did, and greeted their coworkers like normal, but when it came time for the morning briefing, it was all seriousness again.  Not even Nick had the energy to be himself.

"What a night." someone said, "everything popping off at once..."

"Delgado's refusing to go back in there.  Says he doesn't want to know what he saw..."

"He saw the guy kill himself.  Says he's never seen anyone look so alone..."

Judy's inquisitive glance drew Nick's attention, and he shrugged.  Having been distracted by Finnick's illness last night, they had been unaware of anything happening at work.  Now, Nick was beginning to sense that they had both missed something significant.  

Bogo's routine introduction silenced any further banter.  As he read out the assignments, there was a definite weariness to his appearance and voice.  It could have been age finally beginning to show itself, or it could have just been an accumulation of an abnormally sudden uptick in violent, and increasingly sickening events in the city he was responsible for.  The most recent, however, had the entire department in a stir.  Whenever a mammal took their own life, it always caused officers to think deeply, but this time, it even had Bogo visibly shaken.

"We failed last night,"  Bogo announced plainly, once he had finished roll call, "You know it, Delgado and Higgins know it, and I know it.  There's no use pretending otherwise."

The room was dead silent as everyone absorbed their chief's words.  Bogo regained his stoic posture and tone, but continued speaking with a subtle air of honest resignation.

"It's a hard thing to accept, when we can't save someone from themselves.  We can only help make sure their deaths were not in vain, and to better understand the demons that visit some mammals, so we can save them from the same fate.  We're not just an aggressive force.   We need to love deeper, so the next mammal who finds themselves in a dark place doesn't have to feel like no one cares."

Bogo's rare display of open, emotional speech left the assembled officers stunned.  Most of them had never seen Bogo show this much heart.  Nick thought of Finnick, and he was visited by a metal image of himself batting a gun out of his brother's paw, who was holding it to his own mouth one summer night, two years ago.  However, once Bogo was satisfied that everyone had taken his speech to heart, the hardened police chief personality returned as if nothing had happened.

A few minutes later, as the room was emptying, Bogo's beckoning hoof caught Nick's eye.  He gestured to Judy as if to say  _her too?_ , which Bogo replied to with a nod.  He had known his chief long enough to be able to gather with some degree of accuracy when Bogo was angry, or simply wanted to evaluate his officers' well-being.  Sensing the former, he and Judy followed Bogo in to his office, where the water buffalo sat down behind his desk with a soft grunt.

"So I heard through the fire department that you had a family emergency last night."  Bogo began, once the last officer had exited the room.  

Nick nodded, "my little brother.  He has Archer's disease, and last night it flared up."

Bogo regarded him understandingly, "the fennec?"

Nick nodded, wondering if there was an ulterior motive for Bogo calling them into his office, other than to discuss a family emergency.  

Bogo's expression did not change, "Is he okay?"  he asked simply and with an air of genuine honesty.  Judy looked back and forth from Bogo and Nick, unsure of her reason for being present.

Nick nodded again, "He was unconscious for a while, but they said he'll be ready to go home by the end of the day."

"Well, good,"  Bogo replied, "but let me ask you something, Wilde."  He paused, and Nick's eyes  briefly betrayed his permission, "how long have you known Daniel?"

"Since I was seven, Sir,"  Nick replied, doing his best not to shift uncomfortably, "we adopted him about the time he was three or four.  Why-"

"Do you know anything about his life before that?"  Bogo interjected.  Nick shook his head, feeling increasingly confused and worried, "No, sir.  We all just assumed he was just some abandoned kid.  What does this have to do with-"

"Just curious.  It helps me understand my officers' well-being if I know about any family issues that arise, "  Bogo said innocuously, "and before you ask how I know his name, remember that I watched him give a best mammal's speech at your wedding.   _And_ my wife's a paramedic."

That same question faltered on Nick's lips, and he closed his mouth again.  Next to him, Judy's face was an expression of bewilderment.  Bogo rose from his chair with a soft grunt, and picked up his clipboard.

"That's all for now.  Be safe, you two."  he said, gesturing them out the door.  They were barely out of earshot when Judy finally broke her silence.  "What was that all about?"  she inquired with a subtle hint of impatient exasperation.  

Nick shrugged, equally confused.  Then he sighed, instinctively scratching the back of his neck,  "I need to ask Fin something I've held off on for twenty five years."

As they made their downstairs to the vehicles, a tall, hardened-looking snowy leopard passed by, headed in the opposite direction.  For a split second, Nick thought he recognized that face from somewhere.  He looked around, but the leopard had already turned the corner.

 

 

 

 

_The wind caressed Finnick's headfur as he ran through the grass, invigorating him.  He was barefoot, but he felt no discomfort due to the callouses he had developed as an infant.  The souls of his footpaws were rough and hardened, and devoid of any sense of touch.  As a result, he could not even feel the rough, itchy grass beneath him as he tried to keep up with the female fennec up ahead._

_Madeline finally slowed down, and Finnick jogged up alongside her until they both stopped, the late afternoon sun glaring at them from across the field.  It was beginning to turn blood red, giving the sky above the trees to the west a vivid orange hue.  Finnick looked back the way he had run, and about fifty yards away, he saw his mother absorbed in a conversation with hers, occasionally glancing in their direction, as granddad Jackson walked outside. to greet them.  Finnick was about to comment on the sun when he heard a muffled thud on the ground beside him.  Glancing down, he saw Madeline sprawled on the grass, grinning up at him as she smoothed out her shirt._

_"What are you still standing up for, silly?"  she giggled, stretching her limps out, "it's so comfy down here!"_

_Finnick needed no further bidding, and flopped down beside her.  The grass was comfortable, even spongy, but itchy enough to become unbearable before too long.  Still, it was warm, and if Madeline liked it, Finnick never questioned it._

_Madeline rolled her head to the side, so that she was looking at Finnick almost upside down.  "You've got a dragonfly on your head, silly!"  she said, reaching forward with her left paw to flick away the insect._ _Finnick flinched, feeling the tiny feet on his skin.  The dragonfly buzzed its wings loudly, and leaped up as if annoyed.  After circling them both, it darted away into the gathering twilight._

_Finnick watched it go for a moment, then glanced back at Madeline, who was stretching again.  They were only inches apart, so close he could feel her body heat.  Her scent was so intoxicating it almost made him delirious.  The storm of new thoughts and emotions swirled in Finnick's head, like they had for weeks lately, sometimes keeping him up at night.  There was something changing about their interactions lately.  It was nothing negative, just an inexplicable shift.  She was as beautiful as always, but there was something different about her.  She looked strangely older, and Finnick found himself with a burning sensation in his stomach whenever she looked at him._

_"There's the comet!"  she said, pointing at a section of sky just above the orange glow of the sunset.  Finnick followed her finger, and spotted what looked like an extremely bright star with a long streak of white light jutting out to the side.  It looked as though it ought to be moving quickly, but instead sat motionless like any other star._

_"It's being burned up by the sun,"  Madeline said, ever the walking encyclopedia, "it's basically a big, dirty snowball."_

_When Finnick could not think of a reply for several seconds, Madeline rolled her head back towards him.  "Is it your dad?"  she asked compassionately._

_Finnick nodded, "there's something wrong with him."_

_On the street that ran past Jackson and Jesse Wilde's home, the streetlights turned on in unison, signalling seven PM.  Finnick and Madeline both watched Julian sitting on the porch with Simon, each with a beer in their paw.  Madeline's pretty features bore a look of understanding, and she inched closer.  Finnick could practically see the miniscule muscles in her vivid orange pupils, and feel her heartbeat in the ground between them._

_"Is he having bad dreams?" she asked.  Finnick nodded._

_"Mom's worried about him.  He almost never sleeps.  Whenever we go out in public, he can't stop looking over his shoulder.   He said he only has to do this job for one more year, though."_

_Madeline rolled onto her side so that she was resting her head on her left arm.  Her breath rustled the grass in front of them, and Finnick realized with a sudden shiver of shock that their muzzles were scarcely an inch or two away from each other._

_"What happened last night, Fin?"  she breathed._

_Finnick swallowed, "I found him crying.  He pretended he wasn't, but I know he knows I saw him."_

_Madeline seemed unsure of what to say in reply.  She lifted her arm, and moved as if to pull him in close.  Seized by a sudden boldness, Finnick reached across the two inches of grass between them, and placed his paw on her hip.  He felt Madeline jump in surprise, and cringed inwardly, certain he had just made a fatal mistake.  Instead, her look of astonishment gave way to relief and compassion.  She returned the gesture, and closed the distance for them, nestling herself snug against him, her head resting on his chest.  Finnick let out a long, relaxed sigh, unsure of whether to feel triumph or whatever strange emotion was welling up within him, especially between his legs.  Through the countless thoughts that swirled through his head, Finnick found the clarity to appreciate the flowery scent Madeline gave off._

_"It's weird," she mused, directing her gaze back up at the sky, "things that are so scary are usually so easy."_

_Finnick did not answer, but he did not need to.  He was content to just lie here in this golden field with her, no matter how much it itched._

 A sudden, inexplicable jolt shocked Finnick awake.  He blinked, and cringed at the brightness around him.  After several seconds of adjusting his eyes, Finnick saw that he was in a hospital room.  It was evening, and that one extremely familiar, orange-furred mammal was sitting on a chair to his left, looking at his phone.  The taste of blood and vomit in Finnick's mouth was gone, and he no longer felt nauseous, but he was so groggy and drained of energy that when he opened his mouth to speak, all he managed was a heavily slurred  _waddafuk._

Nick jumped slightly, and turned in his chair.  Relief flowed through him, and he could not help but let out a soft laugh at Finnick's first words.  "What's that, buddy?"  he chuckled, reaching out to keep Finnick's head in place, which was beginning to roll too far to the left.

"What...the...fuck..."  Finnick replied, focusing all his energy on getting the words out clearly.  He tried to sit up, but the sheets beneath him began swaying like the deck of a ship, along with the whole room.  Nick's vivid orange figure seemed to bob up and down gently for a moment, and Finnick decided that it would be best to lie still for a little while longer.

"Take it, easy, bud.  You've had a rough night."  Nick said, placing his right paw on Finnick's head, where he stroked his brother's forehead with his thumb.  Finnick closed his eyes again, the familiar sensation of guilt welling up inside again.  As he dug around through his memory, trying to separate dream from reality, a dull realization settled in.

 Was this the future?  Were Nick and Judy going to be stuck taking care of him for the rest of his life?  He felt so useless and pathetic that if he could scream, he would have let out all the pent up misery and regret out in one, long, rendetion of his pain.  A thousand anxiety attacks coursed through Finnick at once, enough for Nick to notice the sudden increase in his heart rate.

"I'll move out,"  Finnick piped up before Nick could speak, not even opening his eyes, "I'll move in with mom, or...something.  You and Judy should just enjoy your life together, and you shouldn't have to put up with me anymore, I-"

"Fin!"  Nick interjected, his tone almost stern.  Finnick cracked open his eyes, and his golden-brown irises met Nick's emerald ones.  Satisfied that he had captured his brother's attention, Nick leaned forward slightly, and spoke in the same firm voice.

"I have fought too hard for you, and I love you too much for you to just give up like that."  He continued, "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you're going to look back on all of this, and it'll be a source of strength for you.  Now don't-"

Nick held up a paw to silence Finnick, who had opened his mouth to question the claim that Archer's disease could ever be a source of strength,  "-Judy and I aren't giving up on you, so don't you _dare_  decide that nothing's worth it."

His stern tone died off, and Finnick sat motionless, suddenly very aware of Nick's paw on his head.  It felt like love.  He sighed, and did his best to de-clutter his mind, focusing on the mammal he had just had an extremely vivid dream about.

"I had a dream about Madeline."  Finnick said, causing Nick's ears to prick up and his eyes widen in curiosity.  He had not heard his brother mention that name in years.

"We were in the field that night she kissed me, around the time that dad was starting to have trouble,"  Finnick continued, trying his best to remember how she felt against his fur, and how her breath felt against his cheek as her lips caressed it.

"Did I interrupt you two, or did your subconscious ditch that part?"  Nick inquired with a smirk.  

Finnick managed a weak smile, and gently shook his head, "Nah, I woke up right before you and Ronny tripped over us."  he paused, and a nagging little detail surfaced in his memory.  "There was a dragonfly,"  he continued, his voice somewhat distant, "a dragonfly..."

"A what, now?" Nick asked, puzzled.  Finnick did not answer immediately, and he stared at the wall for a moment, his mouth betraying his thoughts.   _There's always a dragonfly._

 "Mom and Katy are coming over tonight to cook dinner,"  Nick said, hoping to lighten the mood, "and so is an old buddy of yours."

Finnick's breath caught in his throat as he finally sat up all the way without falling down, and he coughed gently.  "Nick,"  he said, his expression somewhere between a smirk and an apologetic smile, "having Jeremy Stuart in your house is like having the president over for dinner."

 

 

 

The departure was smoother than Finnick had expected.  He had been mentally preparing himself for a long explanation of what went wrong last night, and how much extra medication he would need.  Instead, the doctor had calmly explained that it had been a stress-induced flare-up, culminating in his body being tricked into thinking it had been poisoned.  Basically, the doctor had explained, it had been the same as if he had eaten bad sushi.  Thankfully, he ended the speech by reassuring Finnick that these episodes were usually followed by a long stretch of relative normalcy.  

 _Great,_ Finnick thought as he clumsily dressed himself with Nick's help,  _a couple weeks of only mild headaches._

Nick and Finnick walked out of the waiting room through the last, golden light of the rapidly waning day that filtered into the tiled lobby, refracted by expansive windows.  Dressed in the change of clothes that Nick had brought him, Finnick's mind was awash with cluttered thoughts.  Somewhere in the midst of anxiety over the amount of medication and therapy he was being put through, and the excitement at seeing a legend of his old community again, Finnick vaguely was able to appreciate how spectacular the view was.  Zootopia's skyline was turning bright, brilliant gold in the setting sun, and despite the melting snow all around, there was a subtle hint of a warm breeze.

Finnick winced as he clambered into the passenger seat of Nick's car, feeling strangely light on his footpaws, as if he had lost a significant amount of weight in a short period of time.  He watched the city roll past, leaning to the left with his head resting on the center console while Nick stroked the space between his ears.  The radio played a soothing, ethereal song, and for several minutes, neither Nick or Finnick said a word.

 _I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken...b_ _ut I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold..._ _we'll walk in fields of gold_

"See that office building there?"  Nick said at a stoplight, pointing at a square building about ten stories high, "a couple guys responded to a call about a break-in there last night.  They found a bunch of graffiti about some kind of cult, before an otter jumped to his death of the roof."

Finnick picked his head up, and when he glanced out the window, the anarchist lemur from school was staring at him from the sidewalk.  At first, the lemur did not seem to recognize Finnick, but when one of his friends mouthed something to him, his eyes visibly widened.  Finnick gazed back, his eyes at half-mast.  The lemur seemed to look at him with a sort of sick smugness, one paw thrust in his pocket, and the other flicking a cigarette.  Right as the light turned green, Finnick caught sight of the lemur flashing a middle finger in the rear-view mirror.

"Who was that?"  Nick inquired, having noticed the lemur's apparent recognition and abhorrence of his brother.  Finnick shrugged, not particularly worried.  If the punk had any idea what would happen if they actually went toe-to-toe...

"Just some kid from school,"  Finnick replied, "he and his buddies put me on their shit list."

Nick nodded, and his eyes narrowed slightly, following the lemur through his rear-view mirror.  Finnick's response sounded just a little too nonchalant, and it awoke a sort of instinct in Nick's mind.  The same one that a parent feels when they suspect their child is being bullied or abused.

"I've got my eye on him, bud."  Nick said, both reassuring and suspicious, "He looks like he 'd sell his own mother for a bag of weed."

The lemur's smug, almost sickeningly confident expression continued to linger in Nick's mind the whole way home.  It made him uneasy.  It was the same intuition that experienced officers described so often, and Nick had felt at the rest stop a few weeks ago.  While Finnick was getting out of the car, he quickly tapped out a text to Allen.  

 _There's some security footage I need you to look up._ The response came moments later as Nick shut his own door.

_Send me the T.P.L.S., and I'll have a look in five._

_10-4._ Nick tapped out as he climbed the steps, one paw helping Finnick.  Right before fished out his keys, Allen sent another text.

_When you get a chance, call me.  I need to tell you the results of the rest area investigation._

 The familiar scent of Nick and Judy's apartment hit Finnick's senses hard.  He had become so accustomed to the combined aroma of Nick and Judy's scents and the clean carpet that it smelled like heaven to him.  Finally beginning to feel like he could balance on two footpaws again, and not so lightheaded, Finnick tugged off his hoodie.

However, he barely had time to remove the fabric before he caught sight of another familiar face in the apartment, sitting across from Judy.  Erica Wilde crossed the room in three strides, and before Finnick could react, he found himself engulfed in his adoptive mother's tight embrace.

"Mom...'m k!" he said desperately, his voice muffled by Erica's shoulder as he was picked up clean of his footpaws and held like a baby.


	8. Before the Light Goes Out

 Bogo sighed, watching Nick's tail disappear around the corner of his office door.  He tapped his clipboard absent-mindedly for a moment, thinking about what he had just learned.  The fennec obviously meant more to Wilde than he had initially thought.  He had been aware of his status as Nick's younger brother, but something about the sincerity and tone in the fox's voice told Bogo that the fennec was the absolute world to Nick as much as his wife.

 _That won't stop anything, though,_ Bogo half-thought, half-whispered to himself as he placed the clipboard back in his desk drawer.  When he heard footsteps behind him, Bogo's first instinct was that Nick and Judy had returned for more clarification.

"I'll explain more another time,"  Bogo said calmly as he turned around, "I promi-"  He straightened up, suddenly alert and serious.  The newcomer's golden-brown eyes registered understanding.

"Nick's already downstairs."  he said simply.  Bogo felt cold fear flood his brain when he thought of the task at hand, but stoically ignored it like he always did.  He knew what he had to do.

"When Daniel leaves the hospital," the newcomer continued, "make sure he and his brother are not alone.  Their route home is the most dangerous one.  If there's an opportunity, they'll go for it."

"Does Stuart know?" Bogo inquired, resting one paw on his duty belt.

"He'll be with them,"  the newcomer replied, "I trust Jeremy Stuart."

Bogo mulled this information over for a few seconds.  Folding his arms, he turned and walked to the window.  The rising sun bathed the frigid city in a glow that was in one way warm, bright, and cleansing, and the other bittersweet.  It was like Nick's love for his brother.  Burning, warm, and genuine...but meant little against the cold reality it shone upon.

"You don't think Nick can save him, do you?"  The newcomer observed, as if he were reading Bogo's mind.  

The hardened, tough-as-nails police chief shook his head, "He can't change anything.  It's just the sun waiting to set.  It's only a matter of time before the light goes out."

"Well,"  the newcomer replied with a faint shrug, "that's why we have streetlights."

Turning back to the newcomer, Bogo sighed again.  He wanted to believe him.  He wanted to believe there was a snowball's chance in hell that everything would be okay.  Death would be mercy to him, a sweet release compared to the reality of his existence.  But this was the only way.  

"I have been on this earth for a long time,"  the newcomer said calmly, "Daniel's got a chance, and it's his brother...and us."

Bogo nodded, steeling himself for the long, hard night that was on its way. "the fox who just committed suicide last night...he's not dead, isn't he?"

"Sort of."  the newcomer answered grimly, "they made a mistake, though.  There's more than one now.  In fact, there's three.  There was never supposed to be more than one."

"So that means..."  Bogo trailed off, wrapping his head around the horrifying reality.  The newcomer beckoned him out of the office, indicating that he should follow.

"Get as much coffee as you need," he said as they exited the office,  "we're not going to sleep for a while."

 

 ~<{0}>~

"Nick, c'mere for a sec."

"Why?"

"You keep scratching your balls, and I need to flick your ear or something."

Judy managed to suppress her burst of laughter at her mother-in-law and Nick's banter, and had to duck under the counter momentarily to hide her smirk and keep them from seeing the water that had nearly shot out of her mouth.  Nick stood next to her, and quickly withdrew one paw from the front of his jeans.  Erica glared at him from across the kitchen, where she and Katy Markin were busily preparing a meal with their help.  Erica was as pretty and healthy as ever, but had age had blessed her with a look and air of toughness that gave off the impression that she was no lady to mess with.  Katy was the same, but with somewhat kinder features, and a much more graceful personality.

The sound of running water emanated from the shower on the other side of the wall, where Finnick had been ordered into by Erica the second she had released him from her embrace.  After Nick helped him undress, Finnick had asked if they keep the door open a crack, stating that he might fall asleep in the shower if he was not careful.  For the last few minutes, Nick and Judy had been taking turns to check on him.

"They itch, mom,"  Nick replied with a roguish smile, "if you had balls, you'd scratch them."

"Don't sass me,"  Erica retorted as she opened the oven, "I've got bigger balls than any girl could have a wet dream for."

"She's got a point,"  Katy put in with a shrug, "you once got detention in high school for wearing a bikini."

"What  _didn't_ we get detention for?"  Nick chuckled, looking up at the ceiling, lost in memory.  Erica answered for him.

"Uh,"  she said smartly, eyeing Nick reprovingly and pointing a ladle in his direction, "you and Danny didn't get detention for setting the football field on fire, or spray painting a penis on the gym floor, or flooding the whole school by accidentally breaking a sink off the bathroom wall.  Your little dumbasses got suspended."

"How did you  _accidentally_ break a sink off the wall?"  Judy inquired, having finally caught her breath.  Nick rested his forehead on one paw, unsure of how best to answer without laughing uncontrollably.  Once again, Erica spoke for him.

"He, Danny, Ronny, and Caleb all got fed acid-laced drinks at prom.  I got a call that they had turned the gymnasium into a swamp, and that prom had to be evacuated."

As Judy fought back another burst of laughter, Nick regained his roguish expression.  "Fin was jumping up and down in the sink,"  he continued, finding his voice again, "he was screaming  _GOD IS IN THE WALL_  over and over again.  Then the sink broke, and so did the levee."

 "I..."  Judy began, scarcely able to speak clearly, "I'm...checking on Fin..."  she got up from the stool, and entered the bathroom, having noticed the water had turned off.  Right as she disappeared from view, Nick's phone buzzed.

"Stuart's here," Nick smirked, tucking his phone into his pocket, "I texted him the wrong apartment number."

 

~<{0}>~ 

 

Allen Esmond hummed quietly as he drove, the inconspicuous sedan carving a long, dark trail through the misty green foothills that dominated the landscape around him.  He kept his balaclava off for the moment, not wanting to have his breathing heated or impaired just yet.  Hopefully, he would not have to put it on at all.

The outside air was frigid, yet fresh and invigorating.  Not like his hometown, which to Allen smelled like cigarettes and poverty, this place was clean and ancient.  With the window rolled down, Allen could almost relax.  There was even a faint mist in the air.  It was like drinking light itself.

The three other occupants of the vehicle were absorbed in casual conversation about nothing in particular.  Alonzo and Kaliroy reminisced about girlfriends and drinking stories, and the jaguar would enlighten them on stories from his golden years.  Allen kept quiet for now, simply enjoying the peace, quiet, and relative simplicity of their present state and location.  No raised voices, no fear, no anger, no conflict.  Just him, his friends, and the most beautiful scenery in the world.

Eventually, Allen drove through the center of a small, yet wealthy town.  There was an atmosphere of mixed cultures in this place, one clearly living in the twenty-first century, and the other holding on to a proud past.  An MMA gym stood on one side of the street, while on the other was an ancient pub that dated back to the middle ages.  The jaguar riding shotgun gestured out the passenger window to an extremely, old, very large oak tree.  Around it was a razor wire fence, extending out enough so that the low hanging branches were out of reach.  Allen followed the jaguar's piercing blue eyes towards it as they passed.  It looked so immensely old that it seemed to grow right out of the bedrock beneath the earth.  

The farther from the town they got, the more they began to see decaying stone structures, like crumbling remnants of a bloody history.  Finally, as Allen turned down a road that would take them to their destination, two lone children on bicycles glared up at them.

Fifteen minutes later, they approached a tall razor wire fence with a gate guard.  The jackal looked directly at Allen, and all the wariness in his features dissolved.  He stood aside, and Allen drove them forward towards a distant compound that looked almost like nothing more than a crude structure made of gray blocks.  The jaguar's fingers drummed habitually as they approached it, his electric blue eyes scanning the terrain.  He seemed more excited than anyone ought to be, considering what they were about to do.  Allen knew his reputation, and was grateful for his presence. They were lucky to have him on board.  Alonzo and Kaliory, were like Alllen: this was personal, and work to them.  They all longed for the day when they never had to put on a helmet again, or be away from home.  The jaguar, he lived for that very thing.

A giant of a fox was waiting for them at the small parking lot, which looked no different that if they were at a restaurant.  Allen and his companions exited their vehicle, and the fox unfolded his arms from his plaid shirt with a mischievous grin.

"How ya been, Al?"  he asked, having to reach downward to shake Allen's paw.

"Well, Stan,"  the raccoon replied dryly, "when I pee, it burns."

 

 ~<{0}>~

 

Snow was falling again.  There was no wind tonight, which allowed for an almost potent stillness to fill the world around Bogo and his companion.  Even the traffic was drowned out by what seemed to be the silence itself.  Instead, there was just them, and the pitter-patter of snowflakes hitting the pavement.  He shivered underneath his thick bomber jacket, but was not deterred or uncomfortable in the slightest.  It was a sort of warm shiver, one that energized him just by the involuntary movement.  In front of them was a small commercial jet, parked with the tremendous backdrop of the airfield and skyline behind hit.

Despite the somber reason for their journey, the newcomer was cheerful.  He and Bogo swapped stories from their respective upbringings, sharing a rare moment of simple conversation in a sea of uncertainty.  Bogo's life and career had taken a profound turn when he found himself rising from a rank-and-file police officer, to become the chief of one of the largest police departments in the nation.  As rewarding as it was, it had thrust him headlong into the political side of his job that no one relished.  Simple conversations about matters unrelated to police work were like rays of light in a dark and turbulent life.  

A balaclava-clad mammal about a head shorter than the newcomer was waiting for them on the tarmac when they landed.  When Bogo shook his paw, the masked mammal simply introduced himself as "Craw," and had a husky baritone that rivaled Daniel Wilde's.  His eyes though, were a soft brown that were kind and alert.  However, there was something about him that gave Bogo the sense that this mammal was no one to pick a fight with.

"Sleep well?"  The newcomer asked, shaking his paw

"One good dream," Craw said wearily, "thought I was back in Fallujah."

"Iraq?"  Bogo inquired they walked towards a jet-black SUV.

Craw nodded and sighed, "I was, yes."  He had a weary and humble tone, and spoke as if he could not decide whether or not to be proud of his past.  "Afghanistan too, a few times."

"What branch?"  Bogo asked.

"Army,"  Craw replied in the same humble voice, "I did some work for a three-letter agency before I was medically retired, so now I go where I'm needed."  he turned his eyes to Bogo, regarding him without emotion as he opened the vehicle's heavy door for his two companions.  "Before you ask who I really am,"  he added, "no.  Craw ain't my real name."

Bogo's question died on his lips.  

"I grew up in Columbia county."  Craw said wearily, shutting the door and climbing into the driver's seat.  There was a tone of finality that silenced any further discussion on the subject, and Bogo decided not to press the matter.  The newcomer nudged him, and handed him his phone.  Glancing down, Bogo realized who their driver really was.  On the screen was a picture of a green streetsign, starkly spelling out the answer to all of his nagging questions.

**Normandy Dr**

 

~<{0}>~ 

 

Finnick lay in comfortable silence, curled up against the shower wall with the residual warmth from the shower wrapped around him like a blanket.  He wished he could stay like this forever, and just put a cushion against the wall.  Someone knocked twice on the door, and Finnick jumped slightly.  

"Fin?"  Judy's relaxed voice floated in, "you okay in there?'

It took a few seconds for Finnick to process what she had said, and when Judy appeared outside the sliding glass door, he cracked his eyes open slightly.  He was so exhausted that he did not care that she was seeing him undressed.  He simply wished she would not let any cold air in.

"You okay?" Judy asked, kneeling by the rim of the tub, and resting her elbows on it.  

Finnick nodded slowly, "jus' taking it easy for a sec.  I'm sorry for all the-"

"Fin,"  Judy began, her voice melodic and reassuring, "you don't have to apologize for anything."

 _I cost you five hours of sleep last night.  What do you mean I don't have to apologize?_ Nick's reassurance had been enough, but Finnick still needed to hear it from Judy.  He looked at her questioningly, as if to ask why.  "What happened last night is going to happen again,"  he protested, "your life shouldn't be spent taking care of me."

Judy shook her head, silencing him, "Shouldn't, couldn't, whatever.  You're family.  I just don't want you to ever feel unwanted, or like a you're a nuisance."

Finnick could scarcely believe his ears.  Judy had her whole married life ahead of her, and she deserved so much better than to be dealing with her brother-in-law like a newborn baby.  Deciding not to ask any further questions for the time being, he decided just to accept her word for it.  The residual bathwater splashed underneath Finnick as he shifted so that he could sit up more comfortably.  There was something about Judy, and the way she could soothe him just by her presence that broke through his veil of stoic resilience without breaking him.  She was like something between a motherly figure and a big sister, who never failed to make him feel loved.

Finnick glanced towards the towel that hung on the ring on the wall, and made as if to stand up and retrieve it, but Judy quickly reached up and pulled it down for him.  Finnick smiled his thanks, and wrapped the towel snug around his shoulders as he began drying off, while Judy turned her back to give him a moment of privacy.  Right as he was ruffling the towel over the space between his ears, Finnick felt something hard impact the back of his head.

His wrists felt raw and burned.  He suddenly felt lightheaded and ached as if he had not eaten in days.  Hot, boiling anger tore through him, competing for space with agonizing grief and regret.  Finnick looked down, and his ragged pants were soaked in his own urine and sweat.  There was a scent of blood in the air, so potent it could nearly be drunk.  Soon Finnick realized it was his own body: youthful, lean, muscled, and bleeding horrifically from open wounds from the whip that dangled from a nearby paw. The sun glared down at him, and voices jeered all around.  There was a sense of revelry around him.  Everyone was celebrating the end of his life.  Someone seized him by the wrists and yanked him forward, and when Finnick looked up again, he was staring into the face of a badger.  His teeth were bared, but he was smiling almost giddily.

 _Ég veit hver þú ert,_ the badger growled maliciously,  _Þú ert sonur Dólans._

Finnick was roughly dragged along in the dirt for several yards, before he was hurled headlong into a sun-baked dirt road, alone in the world to sink or swim.  When he looked back up again, he was dizzily stumbling forward into Judy's arms, his dragonfly tattoo throbbing.

"What...just...?"  Finnick gasped out, feeling as though he had just woken up from another coma.  The bathmat beneath his footpaws did not feel like dirt.  It was real, and his wrists were not rubbed raw.  He was not starving, and he was not wearing urine-soaked pants.  Judy's scent and gentle paws were especially real.

"You started falling asleep there, sweetheart,"  Judy said, not sounding worried as she held him steady on his footpaws and adjusted the towel on his shoulders, "you've had a rough couple days.  Get dressed and we'll eat dinner."

Finnick nodded wearily, and quickly finished drying off while Judy returned to the kitchen.  Once dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, he exited the bathroom, bracing himself for his mother's onslaught of questions.  Instead, Finnick did a double take at the tall and formidable timberwolf who was shaking paws with Nick by the door.

The timberwolf caught sight of Finnick, who felt his stomach twist into a knot, and his knees go weak.  Jeremy Stuart looked at him with a somewhat bemused expression.  His eyes were as icy as Finnick remembered, but he had a much kinder face than he had expected.

"The last time I saw you, kiddo,"  he said, grinning, "you were being pronounced dead."

 

~<{0}>~ 

 

It was an unusually warm and humid evening when Allen stepped outside towards the airfield.  This country rarely made him sweat hard, but underneath his nearly sixty pounds of kit, Allen was quickly beginning to feel damp.  There was no breeze, which was good for flight, but not for much else.  Without wind, every little movement in these hills could be heard loud and clear.  Including anyone who may be waiting for them.

To conceal any unnatural scents, he had not put on any deodorant, and had not showered today for that same reason.  Guzzling water for the last few days had flushed out his system thoroughly, but allowing himself to drink coffee at the last second had not been without consequences.  He limped slightly, still satisfied by the luxuriously long bowel movement he had just taken.  It might be his last.

Kaliroy was checking his night vision when Allen approached.  The forty-six year old dingo was still young at heart and in appearance, but deep down, he felt like he had lived an eternity.  Despite being blessed with a long and successful career and family, Kaliroy was weary.  For twenty-two years, he had relived that night.  Now, finally, he and Alonzo, the friend he had become inseparable from could put those demons to rest.  Or, as Kaliroy's inner voice warned, energize them.

"Good dump, Al?"  he observed, pushing his night vision up so he could look at the raccoon with his own two eyes, "please tell me I don't have to smell raccoon shit for the next few hours."

"Don't worry, I got it all in one push,"  Allen replied as he spray painted his tail jet black, "was that even coffee back there?'

"Nah, mate,"  Kaliroy said with a wry grin, "that was just some real dark tea."

Miles away, on some distant mountain, a faint pinprick of light appeared.  Allen and Kaliroy both glanced towards it, mutually wondering what it could be.  Knowing that a lighter being turned on could be seen for miles, Allen briefly wondered if the light were a villager or a hiker innocently lighting a cigarette, or the light from someone's mountainside dwelling.  Then there was also the nagging possibility that someone was watching them, and that the light's timing was no mistake.

They were joined by Alonzo, the Jaguar, and Stan.  Both the Jaguar and Stan had a rectangular patch on their helmets that were simple homages to a fallen teammate.  

**Julian Ray Wilde**

**6/20/2004**

**Always With You**

Several other rough mammals in full kit boarded their blackhawk, while all around them, other birds were filling up.  As the rotors began to spin, Allen found himself next to a wolf who looked to be about forty years old, who was busily trying to adjust his noise cancelling headset.  He had a sleeve tattoo on his right arm, while the other had a pale scar running parallel along his other arm into the depths of his clothing.  Once they lifted off, Allen continued to watch the pinprick of light in the distance.

The view was spectacular in the setting sun.  From their vantage point, Allen could see the sea of lights that was this country's largest city.  The wolf let his boots dangle outside, also taking in the view.  Soon, Allen sensed that there was something startlingly familiar about him.  He could not place it, but he knew for certain that he had met this particular wolf before.

_Must've gone to jump school with him or something._

The last light went out right as Allen remembered where he knew the wolf from.  He was struck by the memory of the salty platoon leader's nametape pressed firmly into his face, while they wrestled and fought on a soft, sweat-soaked mat, surrounded by a vast desert at sunset.

_"Damien Kleating,"  the wolf gasped out, his muscles chafed and his fur matted with sweat just like Allen's as they shook paws.  Still kneeling on the mat, Allen chuckled softly._

_"Allen Esmond."  he said, "you gotta cut back on your drinking, dude.  You smell like straight vodka."_

_"Don't I know it,"  Kleating replied. with a laugh, "welcome to the fleet, bitch."_


	9. Normandy Drive Again

  _“He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.”_

_-Cormac McCarthy, The Road_

 

 

 

Rain poured steadily and windlessly through the night sky, illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights that dotted the edge of a picturesque suburban street with a cul de sac at the end, lined with identical single story suburban homes.  Off in the distance, small hills were visible, tall enough to be seen over the pine forest that surrounded the neighborhood behind the fenced backyards.  On the end of the street, there was a three-way intersection with a winding boulevard running perpendicular to it, with more pine forest standing like sentries alongside it.  The whole neighborhood was silent apart from the steady rhythm of the freezing rain.  Not a pine needle rustled in the wind, nor did a cricket chirp.

A lone dragonfly perched on top of the stop sign. It was just sitting there as if it were sleeping, with its wings fluttering steadily in the rain like leaves.

The quiet rhythm was suddenly interrupted by the gentle rush of an approaching car, whose headlights carved their way past the cul de sac. The dragonfly seemed to snap out of its reverie, and through compound eyes watched an old grey pickup truck roll past, the sort of budget vehicle that college students would buy. 

As the car passed by, something else moved in the woodline.  The dragonfly seemed to recoil in trepidation at the dark, shadowy _something_ that rose out of the pine trees and disappeared into oblivion. 

Inside the truck, a lone, hooded figure gently hummed to himself.  His fingers drummed habitually on the steering wheel, tapping out the beat of the smooth jazz that floated from the speakers as the orange light of the streetlamps suddenly flooded the car’s interior. 

As he passed the cul de sac, the green and white street sign that stood on the corner caught the figure’s eye. Through the rain-spattered window, the street’s name could still be seen clearly. 

**Normandy Dr**

Returning his attention to the road, a faint smile formed on the corner of the figure’s muzzle.  He reached for his phone, which sat connected to the stereo and began flicking through it in search of a song.  Finding the track he was looking for, he set the phone back down as the sound of soft, piano jazz filled the car.

“What are they doing in heaven today...”  He sang softly in a voice like solid granite. 

The pine trees gave way to an open field, where several other suburban homes could be seen about one hundred yards across it.  A small playground was situated in the center of the field, looking like a tangle of lines in the darkness.  On the other side of the houses, dozens of other pairs of headlights zipped by on the interstate that snaked its way in the direction of a long bridge and a distant cluster of lights, skyscrapers that stood out in the night like a candle. 

“Their sin, and sorrow, are all done away...”

More pine trees replaced the field on all sides.  Their branches seemed to stretch out over the road, giving it an eerie appearance in the headlights.

“And peace abounds like a river they say…”

The figure turned the car into an exit that took him towards the interstate.  A large, green sign overhead bore the name of the distant city.

**ZOOTOPIA 20 MILES**

A wave of familiarity washed over the figure as the pine trees gave way altogether and he pulled into the bustling interstate.  The vehicles all around him carried mammals on their way to and from normal jobs, on road trips, holiday visits, and other nuances of life the figure had never known.  They seemed so happy, and relatively content with their lives.  Blissfully ignorant of the dirty, dark underbelly of the world that he knew so well. 

At the same time, the figure felt a pang of longing.  He wished he could live such a simple life, free from what he knew, and wished he could forget.  They had no idea how painless their lives really were.

The final notes of the song trailed off into silence, and the figure sighed resignedly, allowing the last line to escape his lips.

“What are they doing there now…”

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later, the wind had picked up significantly.  Frigid wind battered the windows of a humble, two story home, like a solitary outpost in some vast, lonely corner of the world. 

The figure strode undeterred up a gravel driveway, wearing a dark, hooded rain jacket and a backpack.  Behind him was the truck which the figure had just exited, parked next to a tan minivan. 

Caphias’s feet crunched wetly as the approached the newcomer.  The taller of the two, the newcomer extended his paw first, which Caphias shook. 

“I have the tape, Caphias.  If it is him, then Dola needs to know tonight.”

“Let’s see then.” Caphias replied simply as he turned to lead the figure up the steps to the cabin, beckoning him along. 

They stepped inside, stopping only to wipe their boots on the rough mat that lay in front of the door.  Caphias closed the door, drowning out the din of the storm outside.  The figure glanced around him, taking in his surroundings.  The home’s interior was small and cramped, with the “living room” being situated directly next to the door.  There was a small kitchen on the other side of it, where an assortment of canned food stood on the counter.  Directly in front of them was a small bedroom, with The entire, dimly lit dwelling gave the figure a sense of quiet humility, and unexpectedly, nostalgia. 

Before the figure could give any thought to the matter, Caphias took the backpack from his shoulder and walked up into the bedroom and placed it on the floor next to him, where he opened it.  The figure followed, and once upstairs, stood silently against the wall.

Caphias made as if to remove a videotape from the open backpack at his feet, but after a brief pause, thought better of it, and a rain-soaked paw gently tossed back the dripping hood with a soft slap, eliciting an ever so subtle sigh of relief from his lips.  Kneeling down, Caphias reached inside the spacious bag, and carefully pulled it out from underneath the folded clothing. 

He turned it over in his hand, studying the videocassette’s well-preserved state for a moment, looking for any signs of disrepair.  Finding none, he shuffled to the TV that sat on a bench against the wall under the window and turned it on, illuminating the room in an eerie, blueish glow that caused the figure to flinch slightly at the sudden onslaught of bright screenlight. 

Caphias turned an old VCR on with a faint click, and gently pushed the videocassette inside.  As it disappeared into the VCR, his eyes lingered on the faded scotch tape label on the cassette’s side, written in black sharpie.

**NEW YEARS EVE 1993**

The blue screen suddenly flashed white, and then filled with static as Caphias walked to the bedside and sat down, his right leg crossed over the left, and his arms folded in across his chest.  For five seconds, the only sounds that could be heard were the static from the TV and the gentle breathing of the room’s two occupants.

Right on time, a roguishly handsome fox kit of around seven or eight appeared on the screen, standing in what appeared to be a small, suburban living room at night, lit with only a pair of lamps that gave the room look a cozy, warm appearance.  The kit was wearing only a pair of vivid green pajama bottoms and socks and seemed to be having the time of his life, despite being clearly exhausted.

“I’m NOT tired, Daddy!”  The kit exclaimed as he looked up at the lens, swishing his tail languidly and bouncing his heels, leaving subtle prints in the carpet.  “Daddy, I can do this!”

“You sure ‘bout that kiddo?” a gruff, yet gentle voice spoke, coming from whoever was holding the camcorder.  “There’s still four hours to go, Nick…and you’ve had a long day already.  Is the little guy still awake, Erica?”

Nick looked downright offended for an instant, but his expression then changed to one of roguish amusement, like his father had just issued some kind of easy challenge.  He moved away from the window and the camcorder followed, bringing into view a small, brown sofa underneath another window, where snow was hitting the glass with soft, gentle taps. 

On one end of the sofa, a pretty vixen of about thirty wearing a purple nightgown was curled up the light of a small lamp behind her, illuminating two pointed ears that protruded from underneath a blanket in her lap. 

“If Finnick can stay awake, so can I!”  Nick proclaimed as he clambered onto the sofa next to Erica, who regarded him with a smile and a raised eyebrow. 

“Then you better encourage him Nick, because…”  She said, glancing at her lap as the camera approached closer and panned down where she was looking, where a three or four year old Fennec fox was snuggled up against her stomach under the blanket, looking up at the camera with an expression of mixed embarrassment and amusement. 

“…Fin’s getting comfortable.”  Erica continued, stroking Finnick’s head.  The toddler pulled the blanket up to hide his face from the camera, but a split second later pushed the fabric back down to flash an embarassed grin at the lens that hovered over him.  Finnick then quickly returned the blanket to a more neutral position, deciding to keep his face covered only just enough so that his wide, youthful eyes could be seen.

“Awww.”  Erica crooned as Finnick continued regarding the camera with the same intense gaze.  “He doesn’t know what to make of all this, Julian.”    

Nick laughed out loud at Finnick’s antics and crawled closer so that he could be in the frame with his mother, drawing Finnick out of his hideout.  Nick curled up next to his mother so he could put his arm around Finnick, who wriggled into Nick’s chest and smiled wearily.

“Nick, why don’t you let your mother up for a minute?”  Julian could be heard saying, the camera shifting in his grasp as he sat down on another surface opposite the sofa. 

Erica relinquished Finnick to Nick so that she could get up from the sofa, and she disappeared from the frame.  Nick held Finnick close, allowing him to hold on to his finger and jostle it about.  Finnick blinked wearily, and simply stared at Nick’s finger as gripped it, seemingly mesmerized by the simple gesture. 

“I love you Fin…I’m your brother now, okay?  I’m going to teach you _everything_!” Nick said affectionately, while Finnick leaned his head against Nick’s chest, still completely fascinated by his brother’s finger.

 Caphias hit pause with a resounding click, and the room was filled with flashing lights as he rewound the old videotape.  Finding the spot he was looking for, he let the video play for a few short seconds before pausing it once more on the moment Finnick showed his face to the camera for the first time.

The figure at the wall shifted slightly, betraying only the slightest hint of interest.  Caphias stroked his chin and contemplated the feisty, youthful face on the screen, full of life and innocent energy.  He stood and walked out of the room, passing the figure as he did.  Fishing his phone from his pocket, Caphias dialed a number and raised it to his ear.  Three seconds passed, and the faint crackle of a response floated across the room out of the phone. 

“We found him.  He’s the same one that Doug saw in Zootopia, and Koya fought in Aleadam.” Caphias said, as the figure remained in the bedroom, staring at the screen.

“Good mammal." a kind, simple voice replied,  "We will do our part.  I know you will do yours.  He has stayed hidden long enough.  Don’t kill him.  Break him.  Test him. “ 

The voice was simple, eloquent, and unimpressive.   He spoke as though he were having a casual conversation with a friend.

“Thank you.  We’re going now.”  Caphias replied.

“Of course you are.”  The speaker said, this time betraying a faint air of humor.

Caphias finished the call and replaced his phone in his pocket.  The figure strode out of the room, silent and menacing, and yet strangely vibrant and full of life.  Turning around, Caphias stared into the dark eyes.

“You know what to do.”  Caphias said simply.  It was time for this to happen.  They had waited far too long.

The figure nodded and retrieved his backpack.  Before he opened the door to depart, he turned to Caphias, his gaze ominous and seemingly sightless  “His stepbrother…the cop…”  The figure began, his voice flat and emotionless.  “…will brother be problem, Caphias?”

Caphias glanced back into the bedroom and could see the video had continued playing and Nick was holding Finnick again, letting him play with his finger.  Looking back at the figure, the faintest hint of a smile curved on his features. “Will he?”  Caphias answered with a tilt of his head and a raised eyebrow. 

The figure regarded him for a moment longer before speaking back, “I have lived a long time, Caphias…”

“So?”  Caphias replied quickly, a smirk forming on his features.  “Everyone breaks.”

“He has _already_ been broken, Caphias." the figure retorted,  "more than once.  Once someone walks through fire enough times and lives, there is little else that can burn.”

“That’s awful poetic,"  Caphias sneered, "but I thought this was personal for you.  Don’t you hate the mammal you were supposed to have killed a quarter century ago?”

“I don’t do what I do for pleasure, and have never hated any mammal I have ever killed.”  The figure answered abruptly, not seeming to care that he was letting rainwater into the house as he spoke. He kept his ominous gaze on Caphias, a hint of resentment in his tone,“I don’t know if you th-“

 “Are you going to do this or not?”

The figure stared even more intensely at Caphias, who had just loudly interrupted him, “Very well.  I will fulfill the one and only purpose I have ever had and ever will.”  His voice carried with it an air of exasperation and resentment, which only served to annoy Caphias even further.

“Whatever, man.  Just get on with it before Dola starts wondering.”

The figure turned to leave again, and the door was almost closed when his voice floated inside one last time, “If brother’s love is too great, there is nothing I can do against it.  I know love when I see it, Caphias.  Remember that.”

With that, he disappeared out the door, leaving Caphias alone in the dark house. 

Satisfied, Caphias walked back into the bedroom, and stood watching Finnick waddle across the carpet in the fuzzy videotape.  Finally, he let out a sigh and walked back into the bedroom, where he sat down on the mattress and continued to watch the videotape, his eyes widening in realization each time the camera focused in on Finnick. In spite of himself, Chaphias chuckled lightly at the shy smirk the fennec wore whenever he saw that he was being filmed.  He studied the fennec’s look of amused embarrassment, and the way the golden-brown eyes glowed with feisty energy that seemed to radiate through time and the TV screen. 

“Well…”  Caphias said out loud, turning off the TV and opening a thick book entitled _Divine Comedy,_ “...There you are.”

 

 

 

Bogo and the Newcomer walked side-by-side alongside the snowy lake under bare cherry trees, making their way towards a long, narrow path that led up to a massive, black set of double doors.  Craw walked out in front of them, still wearing his balaclava, and strangely at ease.  His tan, black-spotted tail swished languidly behind him as his powerful shoulders heaved one of the doors open.  Two grim-faced wolves in suits with earpieces were waiting for them on the other side in a decorated foyer.  Unexpectedly, they smiled at the sight of the Newcomer, and each of them shook his, Bogo's, and Craw's paws in turn.

Without pausing, the three of them were led through hallway after hallway, decked with ancient portraits.  Their occupants stared out at the living, their lifelike eyes following Bogo as he passed.  His fur stood on end, knowing how ancient this building was.  So much history, conflict, drama, and world-altering decisions and moments had taken place here.

Finally, they reached an open doorway.  The two suited wolves stood aside, and gestured for Bogo, the Newcomer, and Craw to enter.  The second that Bogo entered the room, the smell hit him.  Immaculately groomed, yet terrifyingly potent with the scent of history.  The same carpet, the same drapes, the same desk, the same flags, the same walls, the same everything.  There were only two other occupants in the room.  One was familiar, and one was not.

"They stepped off a couple hours ago," came the Siberian Tiger's raspy voice from behind the large, wooden desk, "we'll show you the film when it's complete, but first you need to be aware of the next step.  Any tails, Craw?"

"None, sir."  the masked mammal answered.

The white-furred tiger nodded approvingly, his icy eyes registering gratefulness.  Thickly muscled under his suit, and hard-jawed enough to cut skin, he was not where he was by accident.  He was as wily as he was intimidating.

"Chief!"  He said suddenly, drawing Bogo's attention directly to him.  Bogo straightened up, locking eyes with the mammal all others answered to.  There was brief silence as the icy eyes studied his soul.  

"It's not your fault."  The Siberian Tiger rasped reassuringly, "Back in the saddle.  We've got work to do."

Bogo nodded, putting the fox's suicide out of his mind.  Finally, the Siberian Tiger turned to the newcomer, and for once, he smiled.  "How's the little guy?"  he asked with an uncharacteristically upbeat tone.

"Better,"  the newcomer responded, moving closer to the desk, where the other figure stood in a sleek, black female's suit that left little to the imagination, her tan, pointy ears pricking up in recognition, "he's about to get a LOT better."

His fingers caressed her cheeks, and she blushed coyly, her dazzling orange irises fixed on his.  The tenaciously beautiful fennec could not help but let out a giggle unbecoming of such a professional, deadly female.  Her lips parted slightly, and her tail began swishing excitedly, while her left paw toyed with a wristband that looked like it had been made during an elementary school craft project.

"Good to see you again..."  the newcomer said, his voice low and granite, "...Madeline."


	10. Talking Helps

Dinner was a relaxed affair, with Nick and Judy allowing ample use of their coffee table due to their cramped quarters.  Finnick rested with his back to the sofa's folded footstool, quietly letting a rare bout of comfortable light-headedness take control of him while Erica, Katy, Judy, Nick, and Stuart enlightened each other on their respective lives.  Katy had informed them that Scott was on duty, and would make up for his absence another time.  Now Chief of the ZFD, Scott Markin had lead a remarkable career, despite suffering from lingering health complications that stemmed from one particular day in September 2001.

Finnick stayed relatively quiet throughout, only speaking when he was directly addressed, and with short responses.  He zoned out somewhat during Judy's descriptions of her family's various strange habits and dysfunctions.  His eyes meandered to the sliding glass door, where he gazed out at the skyline, momentarily lost in thought while the conversations filtered in like a badly tuned radio.  When Erica began questioning Stuart about his past, Finnick's ears pricked up.

"So how do you and two know each other?"  Erica asked, gesturing to Finnick.  Stuart shrugged his broad shoulders.

"I heard of him through a few of our former teammates who had worked with him," he said in surprisingly dulcet tones, "they wanted me to get him involved with our veteran's project."

"We only crossed paths a few times,"  Finnick put in with a smirk, "in fact, the only time we even exchanged words was when he asked me if I was done with a _Hustler_ magazine."

"You should hear Danny talk about you," Erica crooned, producing an amused and bashful look on Stuart's features, "when he visited home for the first time, he wouldn't shut up about the "ice-wolf" who led the 1st Recon Battalion to Bagdad."

"Oh, I don't know about the "leading" part,"  Stuart replied humbly, "All I did was ride in the point vehicle and keep Rip Esmond from ingesting too much Tiger Blood."

"Rip Esmond...?"  Finnick inquired, recognizing the name, "Allen's older brother?"

"Yeah,"  Stuart sighed with a gentle smile, "if Allen's personality is any indication, Rip is his brother times twenty.  NEVER stops talking.  The messed-up hick couldn't even eat an MRE without spilling it all down his blouse.  Best damn R.T.O. I ever met though...he's doing contract work in Syria now."

"We've got a couple officers doing that on a seasonal basis,"  Nick said, "Delgado and Higgins were both from Third L.A.R. out of Twenty-Nine Palms, and still go back and forth from contracting jobs every now and then."

"That's what a lot of us infantry types do when we get out,"  Stuart replied, "we think  _oh, I'll go to college and I'll be super successful there,_ then only a few of us have the patience to finish a degree in one go.  The longer you're in, the more of a culture shock it is to get out, especially with the Marine Corps.  In a way it's like being released from prison, but with better memories.  More often than not, we end up going back to what we know, but that's a stereotype we're trying to change."

Katy nodded, "My daughter just finished U.P.T. with the Air Force to fly A-10's.  Her fiance' is a former paratrooper, and he's described the whole process the same way."

"She's got probably the sweetest gig in the whole D.O.D.," Stuart answered with a chuckle, "You can't top that.  My job was great and everything, and the friendships you made were timeless, but it also wrecks your soul to the core.

"Word,"  Finnick laughed dryly as he finished his glass of water, "everyone wants to be a Recondo until they find out what happens to them after thirty days of M.R.E.'s.

"Emily found out the hard way," Katy explained to Stuart, a strange, half-lidded smirk on her features, "you remember, don't you, Danny?"

It took all of Finnick's strength to not burst into a fit of laughter at his ex-girlfriend's mother's mildly accusatory tone.  He gulped down any trace of humor before speaking, while Stuart raised a knowing eyebrow in his direction.

"I had sex with her daughter on her eighteenth birthday,"  Finnick said, his resolve barely holding, "and  _right_ after we both finish, she goes in for a kiss and I just puke a whole month's worth of chili-mac M.R.E. all over her face.  Then her mom walks in..."

His self-control broke, as did Nick's, and the fit of laughter finally escaped them both.  Judy was looking at Finnick with an expression torn between amusement and disgust that clearly said  _what kind of a little idiot were you back then?._ Erica rested her brow in one paw, with the other folded across her chest, shaking her head lightly and valiantly hiding her smirk.  Katy continued to watch Finnick with the same look of amused disappointment, but with a hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth.  Stuart, however, held out a fist for Finnick to meet with his own.

"Nice," the timberwolf mused, "was that your first time?"

"Yeah,"  Katy chuckled dryly, "for both of them.  Scott was out of town for work, Danny had just got home on holiday leave, and Emily brought him home to spend the evening with us.  I let them stay up, thinking nothing of it, but when I get up to go for a drink of water, I have the misfortune of turning on the light to find him balls deep in Emily and covered in his own sick.  Honestly, I wasn't all that mad about _what_ they were doing.  I mean, they were adults making their own choices...but why  _there?_ I'd have been fine with it if you two had just gone to her room, or the shower, or something."

"Nah, the living room sofa at two in the morning was a great place to do it, Kate,"  Nick commented, smirking so roguishly he could have passed for a cartoon character, "Fin actually sleeps on the same one I screwed Jasmine on in high school."

Judy promptly delivered a sharp flick to her husband's ear, eliciting a even wider smirk from Nick.  Finnick gave a subtle flinch, and stared back at the cushions that he used as a bed with a mildly traumatized look.  

Erica glared at her oldest son sternly,  "Is  _that_  the smell was hanging in the living room all damn summer?"

Nick took a sip from his glass, rolling his eyes in mock submission, "Busted..."

"This poor couch has seen too much of Nick and I for one lifetime,"  Finnick laughed dryly, gesturing behind him, "I even managed to baptize it the  _day_ after we got it by breaking my ribs and getting food poisoning."

"In one day?"  Judy asked.  Finnick, Nick, and Erica all nodded in unison.  "It was the last day of school before spring break of our eighth grade year." Nick explained,  "we were walking to the buses, and Duke Weaselton decided to pull one last stupid stunt on Fin."

Judy raised her eyebrows in astonishment, remembering the sleazy creature she had once chased through Little Rodentia. "You went to school with that jackass?"

Nick laughed good naturedly, "Yeah...he was no different back then.   _Really_ had a problem with Fin.  On this particular day as we were walking out the fronts steps, he and his little gang started filming him trying to knock Fin out from behind with a skateboard.  I see Duke approaching, yell for Fin to watch out, and Fin dodges the skateboard enough to keep it from hitting his head, but it smacked him right in the rips instead.  Fin then immediately slapped Duke across the face so hard, he knocked that idiot out cold.  Had to get two of Duke's teeth surgically removed from his knuckles."

Finnick beside himself, lost in memory as he laughed for what felt like the first time in years.  Just reliving the crazy, stupid, and bizarre moments from his and Nick's upbringing seemed to put him in a rare but intoxicating state of bliss.  Stuart looked almost proud when he heard Nick mention Finnick's powerful knockout slap, and Finnick understood why.  In his and Stuart's former subculture, moments of justified violence were respected rites of passage.  In their vernacular, it was their way of "getting some."

"What about the food poisoning?"  Judy pressed, visibly trying not to give in and laugh as well.

"No idea what caused that,"  Fin answered, "but the minute mom put me on this couch after getting back from the hospital that evening, I emptied my stomach onto it."

"Yeah, and then you got your brother _and_ Ronny sick, too."  Erica commented, "Katy and I had to spend a week listening to your little bedridden asses bicker over whether or not Monty Python sucked."

Katy nodded with a grave smile, "I'll never get that conversation out of my head."

"At least they had TV and a soft couch to rest on," Stuart chuckled, "I got pneumonia in boot camp and had to lie on my cot for three days, doing nothing but reading the same stupid knowledge over and over."

"You could write a whole book on just boot camp,"  Finnick said, adopting a curiously excited tone, "all that twisted, random, goofy shit that happens when you cram so many baby crayon-eaters in one squad bay for three months.  I didn't shit for the first three weeks, got a viral upper respiratory infection that almost got me medboarded, had my Kill Hat throw a foot locker at my head, and during the crucible, got a faceful of a purple smoke bomb that suffered a catastrophic malfunction."

"There's a video somewhere of that, bud."  Nick said, grinning.  Stuart, however, was beginning to show an unexpected level of humor, as if the mutual sharing of stories from his and Finnick's careers were some kind of soul relaxer.  He leaned forward on his elbows, eyes lost in memory.

"During grass week," he began, "we were all doing that whole "inspection" after the shower, where we get on the line and the Senior Hat makes you walk in a circle in place while kicking your own ass.  Suddenly we realize one guy's missing, and he's still in the shower.  Before the D.I.'s can go drag him out, the poor kid comes sprinting out of the head across the deck.  He slips on the wet concrete, and in full view of everyone, the towel just flies off while he's in the air.  Lands on his ass in front of the Senior.  That was the one time I ever saw a D.I. _completely_ break character and laugh uncontrollably."

"Didn't you get attacked by a shark in B.R.C.?"  Katy asked Finnick, who nodded.

"Yep..."  Finnick replied, suppressing a shudder, "I'm on the Coronado wall of shark bait."

Judy looked shocked and unnerved, the image of Finnick superimposed in front of a shark's mouth apparent in her mind's eye.  "It wasn't as bad as it sounds," Finnick continued, "we were getting thrashed during final surf passage, and I opened my eyes underwater to see a great fucking white swimming up to say hello.  Wasn't cool with that, so I tried to give it a what-for, and the the toothy motherfucker decided I looked edible.  Planinski plucked me right out of it's mouth.  I had so many stitches..."

"Uh-uh!"  Erica said suddenly, smacking Finnick's paw lightly, "if you have to scratch your balls, go to the bathroom or something.  Just wash whatever paw you touched yourself with!"

Finnick looked not even remotely embarrassed, and withdrew his right paw from the front of his jeans with a smirk.  He hopped up and walked to the stepstool by the sink, defiantly still shoving his paw down the front of his jeans.  Erica watched him go, sighing at the sight of her adopted son's limped gait.

"He really is his father's son."  She said with mixed pride and annoyance, "All balls and no brain."

 

 

 

After a few more hours of banter and cleaning, Katy and Erica had retired for the night, leaving Finnick, Nick, Judy, and Stuart by themselves in the living room.  Soon after, Nick and Judy also decided it was time to prepare for the next day as well.  They both hugged Finnick tighter and longer than usual, and when Judy kissed him goodnight, sparks flew inside Finnick's head.  He could not remember the last time he had been kissed, even just on the cheek.  It left him in a state of numb shock for several minutes, and although he tried to hide it, Stuart demonstrated his reputed ability to read emotions impeccably well.  He smirked knowingly at Finnick, who looked away and sighed, blushing furiously.

"When Elena and I were first dating..." Finnick began, still smiling but with a subtly hollow tone, "We went out one night to this comedy show in San Diego, where that guy Ryan Bregan was performing.  He's got the whole place rolling, but when Elena laughed, it was so loud and infectious that he singled her out.  He even made some kind of comparison to a dolphin chortling.  By the time we got back to our car, she's all giggly and cuddling, and in a super good mood.  I had never actually made out with her yet or anything, so I'm wondering if this is the right time.  Elena sees it too, and goes quiet just long enough for us to go for it.  Right as we're past the point of no return, she lets out a really sudden burst of giggles, and she leans back in her car seat just enough that I missed her completely.  I got a faceful of her breasts instead."

Finnick paused to contemplate the memory, faintly laughing before speaking again.  "She never let me forget that."  he added.

Stuart chuckled good-naturedly.  "Don't sweat it,"  he said, shrugging, "I accidentally dropped a wine bottle on my ex's foot on our first date.  We spent the rest of the night in the ER, getting her footpaw into a cast.  She dumped me for a model a few years later."

There was a brief silence, and Finnick swallowed, feeling the inevitable topic of conversation approaching. Eventually, he would have to tell Stuart.  That was what the ice-wolf wanted to help with, so that was what needed to be let out.

"Elena and Lucy were killed in January 2015 when a semi lost control on the ice and went into her car.  I still could not walk, and was just getting out of TBI therapy when it happened.  The driver vanished, but it wasn't his fault.  They said any other vehicle would have slid on that road.  For a while..."

Finnick paused again, his voice still dry, "for a while...I didn't really react.  I guess I was just in denial.  It took me awhile for it to really register that they were gone, and the only thing I felt like I had to live for would never come home.  Elena was already leaving me, but I still just held on like I always did.  Believed that I would pull through, recover, and everything would be okay again.  But everything hit home.  It forced me to take an honest look at what I had become, and the life I had led.  I wrote myself off.  Decided then and there that I was not worth saving.  I had failed everyone.  Caleb...my old team...Mom...Dad...Ronny...Emily...Nick...

He sniffed, finally losing his stoic veil, "A few months later, I put a gun in my mouth.  Nick and Judy found me right as I was about to pull the trigger.  I'll never forget the look on Nick's face...he was so scared."  

Finnick put one paw to his brow in an involuntary reflex to control the wave of tears threatening to engulf him.  "That's why,"  he continued, his voice hollow and broken with emotion, "Nick tells me he loves me every chance he gets.  His probationary year had ended only a few weeks before, and Judy was staying with him pretty much full time by that point.  My medical situation was getting increasingly worse, so Nick, Judy, and the doctors all thought it would be best if I lived with them."

Stuart had listened patiently, and Finnick had felt his presence keep him steady somehow.  His eyes no longer seemed icy, but a thick, cool blue that was comforting like a clear sky.

"Archer's disease attacks the nervous system, and turns it against you,"  Finnick continued, "it hijacks pain response and overstimulates it everywhere, especially in the brain.  Overtime, it induces constant nausea because of the stomach always cramping and being tricked into thinking it's being poisoned, as well as memory loss, psychosis, dementia, stunted serotonin and dopamine production, and basically shutting down everything the brain does to keep itself healthy.  It won't necessarily be fatal, but it can reduce a mammal's mind to nothing but depression and basic functions, all the while living in constant agony and nausea.  That's what I'm looking at for the rest of my life.

"It doesn't have to be the end."  Stuart said calmly.  

Finnick nodded and wiped his eyes.  "I know, it's just that..."  He sniffed, and blinked a few more times, "...I feel like I deserve this.  After the life I've led, and the horrible crap I've done, and the mammals I've hurt, I feel like I should just give in and accept my fate.   It's kind of like prison, but...not."

Stuart's glowing presence never wavered.  Somewhere deep within the timberwolf's psyche, however, Finnick noticed a vague shift take place.  It was so subtle, and so imperceptible that it was as if his own mind had picked up some kind of electromagnetic pulse between them.  As soon as he noticed it, the sensation was gone.

 

"What's that in there, Wilde?"  Stuart said astutely, pointing at the door that Nick had closed moments ago.  Finnick's ears pricked up, confused.

"Wha-" he began before Stuart continued speaking.  "What's that out there?" he said in the same tone, pointing out to the spectacular view of Zootopia's skyline.  Finnick paused, feeling like he knew what Stuart was getting at.  

"Nick and Judy..Mom...Katy...Ronny..."

"So," Stuart interjected, a faint smile forming, "the brother who loves across the universe gave you a safe place to land, living wit him and with his wife, who also welcomed you into her own family like she had always known you.   They care so much, they sacrifice the normal life of a married couple to make sure you can still have a life of your own.  Most females would have tapped out a long time ago, but Judy decided you're worth as much as a son of her own, even if you're four years older.  Does that sound like prison?  The mother who you put through hell like any one of us infantry types did, myself included, never gave up loving you.  The mother of the childhood friend who you _had sex_ with the first chance you got all those years ago, could have decided she wanted nothing to do with you.  Yet here she was tonight, still like a second mother to you, nothing changed deep down since you were little.  After everything you've been through, all the birthdays and holidays you missed, all the times when they wondered if you still loved them back, and even after you lost everything...they were all waiting to hug you when you got home.  You're not living on the streets, you're not starving, and guess what?  You've still got  _decades upon decades_ of life left in you.  There's guys like us, guys who suffered like us, who would kill to be in your position, Archer's or no Archer's.  If you've got Archer's, this is the best damn place to have it."

Finnick sat humbled, emotionally floored by his own self-pity.  Guilt shot through him like a dart when he realized how unbelievably selfish he had been, spending years convincing himself that he was such a horrible, hopeless individual.  Finnick hung his head for a moment, but thought better of it, and picked it up again to look Stuart back in the eye.

"Look,"  Stuart continued, his tone softer this time.  "I'm not saying this because I'm perfect and untainted, or anything like that.  I may have finished out my career without too many bumps and bruises, but I suffered like you did when I got out.  It's like leaving the joint.  That emotional rubber band...it just snaps.  I went from a Master Sergeant in the Marine Corps, freefall instructor, and more tours than anyone in our career field to date...to a fucking  _waiter._ You're like me, you know what it's like.  We both went in before this whole video game generation of softies, at eighteen years old.  We were practically  _babies,_ and it became all we knew.  After eight or more years of that, getting out is the scariest thing imaginable.  Suddenly, I was alone with my thoughts for the first time in my adult life, and sometimes..."

Stuart paused, and Finnick realized with a start that there had been a cracking in his voice as emotion built in the ice-wolf's heart.

"Your mind just attacks you.  It did with mine.  I really thought back on everything: being a stupid, directionless kid, all the idiotic shit I did out of immaturity that cost me opportunity after opportunity, the mammals I hurt, let down, and betrayed, the times fired my weapon out of anger, made my first kill...every failure and every fault just stood out like a mural.  I'm not the great mammal everyone takes me for, Wilde.  My first wife left me because I couldn't stop being myself.  I'm a lucky mammal that Megan is so patient now, and she knows the weight of my sins better than anyone.  But she never stops being  _her_ self.  Somewhere deep down, Megan just decided that she didn't care who I had been, or that my first wife had left me.  She just loved me for the now..."

Realizing that he was going off on a tangent, Stuart shook his head out to clear it.  Finnick, meanwhile, was taken aback by Stuart's honesty.  It seemed impossible that such a stoic, in-control legend could be so conflicted inside, but in a way, it made sense.  It could not have been easy being the Ice-Wolf.  Another moment of understanding passed between them, and Finnick turned his attention out to the skyline.

"Damn...I wish we could see more of the sky here."  He thought out loud, only able to pick out a few of the brightest stars.  The rest were hidden by the saturating light of the city.  "It's not so bad with company though."

"What about company who can remember what it was like to share a sleeping bag under that same sky?"

Finnick smiled for what felt like the first time in years, despite having laughed hysterically over dinner.  "Well," he chuckled, strangely aware of how much like his old self he sounded, "no point in getting greedy, is there?"

 

 

 

 Judy's damp fur glistened in the lamplight, while Nick watched her from behind with burning desire for her in his eyes and heart.  Knowing she was being watched, Judy slowly emptied a dollop of shampoo into her palm, then began scrubbing it generously into her fur, starting at the shoulder, then working her way down.  A smirk began working its way onto her muzzle when she saw the way Nick looked at her.  Before she could reach her lower body, pleasure rippled through Judy as she felt her husband's paws finish the job for her.  They pressed tightly together, and their lips instinctively met with the passion of two mammals who were made for each other.  While Judy allowed her paws to grasp every inch of her husband's fur, a thought struck her.  Deciding now was as good of a time as ever, she finally broke her silence about something she had been mulling over for a week.

"Hey, Nick?" Judy ventured, gasping as Nick playfully nipped and kissed his way down her neck. She withdrew her paw from between his legs, eliciting a shudder.  

"Hmm?"  he responded through a long, suckling kiss.  Judy squeezed his rump, and leaned her head back, with her arms draped over his shoulders.

"What's Ramiel?"

Nick blinked and stared fuzzily at her through a fog of desire, "Ramiel?"

"Yeah, who's this Ramiel that Fin mentioned last week?"  Judy continued, still not letting Nick continue his exploration of her body until he answered her.

Nick shrugged, "he's a fox who lived about twelve hundred years ago.  Every one of us learns his story.  Kind of like our ancestral father."

"But what,"  Judy pressed on as Nick resumed massaging her rump, "does that have to do with whoever Fin was talking about?"

"No idea, carrots."  Nick's muffled voice answered through a mouthful of Judy's neck.  Not quite ready to give up, Judy tried stepping out from his grasp, but was caught in a wave of pleasure that rippled through her.

"Can you tell me the story?"  she tried one last time.

"In a sec,"  came the reply.  There was a tone of finality in Nick's voice that told Judy he was not going to be in the mood to give a clear explanation for a few more minutes.  Deciding to ask him again once they were dried off and in bed, Judy gave in, and let out a strangled squeak as Nick pressed himself against her, soft growls drifting up from his throat.

Several minutes later, Nick was settling under the covers while Judy slipped a long t-shirt over her bare fur.  Still damp from the shower, she walked out into the living room to see an underwear-clad Finnick at the sink with a glass of water and a pair of pills in his palm.  

"He left while you were in the shower."  Finnick said, tilting his head back to swallow the medicine.  Finnick felt strangely tranquil in the wake of Stuart's visit, as if he had just meditated for an extremely long time.

"How are you feeling?" Judy asked in response, noticing the exhaustion in his eyes.  His pill bottles were still on the counter, each one containing a different drug.  Now that she was close enough to read the labels, Judy realized that one was an anti-depressant, another was an anti-insomnia drug, and the other bore a name she had never heard of before.  All three worried her.

Finnick shrugged as he hopped down from the footstool to give Judy room to fill her own glass of water.

"Like I could sleep till next year."  Finnick replied, drearily making his way to the sofa.  "Wh-"

"What's that, Fin?"  Judy asked, unsure of what he had said over the noise of the faucet running.  Turning around, she nearly dropped the glass when she saw Finnick kneeling on the carpet behind the sofa, hunched over with one paw grasping the armrest.  He was breathing heavily, and there was a soft whine emanating from his throat as he valiantly tried to steady himself with shaking paws.

_Finnick stood upon wet rocks, soaked to the fur next to wide, winding river, and the roar of the rapids that he had just gone over could be heard behind him.  Wide, sweeping evergreen forested hills surrounded them, producing a truly amazing backdrop against the misty, overcast sky.  Despite wearing the same, urine-soaked pants that he had been exiled in, he had stopped caring enough to notice.  Out here, it was a blessing to have clothing at all.  Bloody, scarred, and with eyes full of the toxic disease of self-hatred, he looked upon the mammal he had spent his whole life wondering about.  The rest of the assembled mammals stood in quiet anticipation for their leader to speak, all of them bearing the same vicious appearance of mammals who lived to kill._

_"Hvað heitir þú?"  The older fox growled, his facial tattoos contorting as he examined the younger version of himself.  Muscles bulging through a soaking tunic, he had terrifying, scorching golden eyes like a hawk that bored into Finnick's soul.  He shivered, but not out of fear.  The cold air on his cut skin and soaked fur was agony, but he dared not show any adherence to it.  Not in front of his own father._

_"Mitt nafn er Ramiel Dreaven. Ég kom inn yfir fossinn."  Finnick replied, his voice waterlogged and hoarse.  The older fox's eyes widened ever so slightly, but Finnick could see the recognition light up in them.  In a truly rare moment, the tattooed fox was speechless._

_"Nafnið þitt er Bransil, og þú ert faðir minn."  Finnick continued boldly, his mind hot with mixed resentment and admiration.  He resented him for abandoning him to die, to be raised by his enemy, but his mother...he hated him for not caring._

Finnick took a step forward, but the wet, pebbly riverside was just a fuzzy carpet again.  Dazed and confused, he blinked furiously, trying to make sense of what had happened.

 Judy knelt by Finnick, worriedly patting him on the shoulder while he slowly regained his composure.  Concern mounting, she saw a few tears spilling from his eyes that he quickly blinked away when he saw her looking.

"It...happened...again..."  Finnick gasped, looking up to see Nick approaching from his bedroom.  Blushing vividly, he did his best to appear normal so as not to worry Nick.  It was like there had been a sudden gap in his memory, like his brain had shorted out and filled it with memories that were not his.  To his surprise, Nick's face did not register any particular worry.  Instead, he just knelt and picked his brother up under the armpits, and carried him like a child into his room with Judy in tow.  Once there, he deposited Finnick on the bed, and climbed in between the two pieces of his heart.

The covers rustled as Finnick settled in beside Nick, tucking himself under his arm.  He had long since stopped feeling insecure or ashamed of his inability to sleep alone.  This at least reminded him that he was loved.

"So...?"  Judy inquired expectantly, curling up next to Nick after plugging her phone into its charger, "what's Ramiel?"

Finnick's ears pricked up, and he glanced at her in confusion.  Nick chuckled understandingly, and scratched the space between his ears as he searched for a clear way to explain it to Judy.

"Do you want the short or long version?"  He asked.  Judy frowned and picked her head up to look him in the eyes. 

"The second one."  She replied, settling the matter as she put her head back down on the pillow.  Finnick closed his eyes as Nick took a deep breath to begin the story.  He had heard this hundreds of times in his life, and was so familiar with it that it was almost boring event to the point of it being a source of jokes and references.

"Ramiel..."  Nick began, staring up at the ceiling fan as he stroked Finnick's headfur with his right paw, "Ramiel..."


	11. Ramiel

_"And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder_  
_One of the four beasts saying,_  
_'Come and see.' and I saw, and behold a white horse"_

 _-Johnny Cash,_ _ When the Man Comes Around _

 

Allen crept through the silence, his breath rising above him in misty puffs of faintly visible moisture.  The pilots had been forced to drop them off a few miles away from their objective due to approaching storms, giving the team a longer walk than expected.  Miles above them, he knew the U-82 spy plane was orbiting, its eyes keeping a vigilant watch over them, missing nothing.  He just hoped they would not have to contact the plane's crew tonight.  

 _Just don't fall into the latrine again,_ Allen thought, shuddering at the memory.  He could have given the whole country typhoid if he had not stopped his fall with a lucky grab for life.  Since then, he made a point to watch his step closer than ever, paying extremely close attention to his surroundings and direction.  Anything to avoid a repeat of that moment.  Right as he was having these thoughts, however, Allen took one more step, and with an oddly satisfying crunch, stepped directly into a patch of partially-melted snow.

 _Great,_ Allen snarkily thought to himself,  _fucking lovely._ The slush had seeped into his sock, sending electric shocks coursing through the footpaw underneath.  These boots would trap the moisture inside, and if he survived the night, his footpaw would be so badly chafed and frozen he would have to self-medicate it.  Mammals who had only a vague idea about the nature of his line of work often held an assumption that they enjoyed being cold, wet, and miserable.  The truth was, they only put up with it for the sake of the rest of the job.  No one actually enjoyed the suck.  Cursing silently, Allen clambered up and over the rocks, jealously eyeing Kaliroy, who moved so fluidly over the rocks like he was part monkey.  Even Alonzo, Stanley, and Jaguar could not match his effortless bounding.  As if he were not weighed down by sixty extra pounds of gear, the dingo hopped, climbed and landed without making a sound, often grabbing for pawholds with only one arm, the other keeping his weapon under control.

Thirty minutes later, the entire group had crossed the rocks, and were now confronted by a sweeping valley between tall, grassy hills.  Chest-to-head high bushes and shrubs dotted the valley, making it easy to hallucinate the presence of a massive army.  While they took a head count, Allen's eyes scanned the terrain around him through his thermal night vision.  Under the moonless night, the landscape was in a new level of darkness that few mammals had ever experienced, or could comprehend.  Far from civilization and light pollution, night was truly terrifying.  It was such a thick, heavy darkness that the only ambient light available were the stars, which were scarcely enough to give the valley even a hint of an outline.  It was a humbling revelation to be there, kneeling in the cold, damp grass, on ground that no mammal had walked in centuries.  For good reason.

On the move again, Allen began searching his surroundings for any hint of an anomaly.  Anything out of place, hiding in plain sight, or moving in an unnatural way.  Bushes or trees could sway horizontal to the wind, instead of with it, or a branch could stick abnormally far out from a shrub, and anything in straight line could be indications that they had company.  There were rules to this.  Perfectly straight lines did not exist in nature.  A sniper or an observer could be generating movement by just their own breathing.  In addition to the darkness, it was profoundly, and unnervingly quiet.  Most mammals had no idea how loud civilization truly was, and how desensitized they were to the silence of nature.  If there was no wind, the silence was loud enough to cause mammals to lose their minds if they were not prepared to cope with it.  Their own thoughts would become deafening.

At length they came upon a break in the valley.  A wide, sweeping plain extended before them, at least two miles across.  This was a terrible place to be caught in a gunfight.  Breaking contact or assaulting forward here would be a frantic tooth-and-nail effort, and they would be lucky to make it to any kind of cover without casualties.  A few yards to Allen's right, was another little stone fox.  On it's face was a look of revelation and astonishment, looking directly at the looming hill ahead, consumed by evergreen forest.  What was visible now, was only half the terrible beauty of this place: in daylight, ice-capped mountains lined the horizon for miles, extending all the way to the shores of the north sea.  The group made their way across the expanse, every mammal feeling the weight of this moment on their souls.  Under these same skies, and on this same ground,  _he_ had walked to the end and the beginning of his life.

 

 -~x0x~- 

 

 _"Ramiel was the son of a Norse warlord, born around 900 A.D."_  Nick began, comfortably watching the ceiling fan as he retold his favorite childhood story for what felt like the millionth time, _"At the time, Bransil Dreaven was invading his way west, conquering or recruiting anyone in his way.  Eventually, he overran a tribe of foxes, and killed their leader.  The daughter of the former Earl was by law, automatically his wife.  Bransil had a viscous temper, and his heart was bent on revenge.  He didn't care about his wife, or his infant son he had with he, and the mother died in childbirth, while the baby was left behind to die after the tribe was ambushed by a rival.  The baby was taken in and raised by their enemy, in modern-day England.  There, he was instantly an outcast, hated by everyone around him for who he was.  Yet he was clueless to his real identity.  Ramiel had no idea he was the son of his country's enemy, and as a result, grew up angry and full of an insatiable hunger for the truth."_

 

 -~x0x~- 

 

After what felt like an eternity, the group reached the base of the hill.  It gradually sloped upward, the incline never exceeding thirty degrees until it began sharply jutting up at forty-five as the vegetation thickened.  Thorns bit into the exposed fur on Allen's wrists and face, eliciting silent cursing from everyone as they clawed their way through the tangles.  The higher they climbed, the mistier the air became, carrying with it an odd smell that reminded Allen of a sweaty MMA gym, but more pleasant.  Halfway up, Alonzo gestured towards another little statue, this one a dragonfly.  It's bulbous eyes seemed to follow Allen as he passed, and it sent a rare shiver down the raccoon's spine.

What felt like an hour passed, and finally the group came upon a tiny frozen stream that iced over a rocky slope in a motionless, trickling waterfall.  One at a time, they clambered up the side to avoid the ice, every mammal's breath misting up above them in the gathering snowfall.  These storms were random and impossible to really anticipate or plan for.  Sometimes they were gentle and windless, and others were gale-force blitzkriegs of frozen water particles that swallowed anyone caught unawares.  Tonight, it was a quiet storm, just snowflakes drifting down from a now-overcast, pitch dark sky.

It caught Allen by surprise to find out that he was at the top.  Once he had heaved himself over the frozen waterfall, the ground evened out noticeably.  There was a small clearing in the center of the oddly circular hill, where no trees grew.  Allen's breath caught in his throat.  This was the place.   As he got closer, he realized there was a final stone structure, this one an effigy of a fox.  Out of lifeless granite eyes, the fox stared at the intruders as if they had awoken him from a long nap.  It was life-size, and knelt on the pine litter as if it were simply exhausted and out of breath, focused on an unseen figure who ought to have been kneeling opposite from him.  It was so eerily quiet that Allen's fur stood on end.  Glancing over at his companions, he realized that everyone present, especially Alonzo and Kaliroy, was sharing the same apprehension.  As Alonzo crept ahead, he stopped, and suddenly scraped at something beneath his footpaw.  Brushing the dead pine needles away, he uncovered a flat, marble surface.  Allen knelt beside the hyena, inspecting the faded words etched into the ancient shrine, which were still surprisingly legible.

_Lokin var upphafið_

_Um daginn stóð hann upp aftur_

_Sál lituð rauður_

_Hann dó eins og hann bjó_

_Hann bjó þegar hann dó_

_Hvorki fordæmdur né vistuð_

_Í hjarta fyrir aðra_

_Þyngd synda hans bar hann_

_Í eilífðina_

Allen and Alonzo stared at the inscription while the group began pulling security, both of them translating it in their heads.

_The end was the beginning_

_At dawn he rose again_

_Soul stained red_

_He died as he lived_

_He lived as he died_

_Neither damned nor saved_

_On heart for another_

_The weight of his sins he carried_

_Into eternity_

It was at that moment that Allen realized there were hundreds of dragonflies buzzing through the woods around them.  It created an awful din, like white noise...like a thousand screeching violins.  There was also a thick, potently sweet odor that hung over the hilltop like an invisible blanket.  The smell was so strong that Allen found himself feeling suddenly nauseous, recognizing the horrific scent of blood.  Nearby, Kaliroy stood by an opening in the trees, where the full view of the surrounding plain would have been visible had it not been for the moonless night and the gathering cloudcover.  Miles away, on another mountainside, another tiny pinprick of light was shining like it had been at takeoff.  Intuition stirred in Kaliroy's mind, and he took the opportunity to focus on the light.  It was blinking on and off repeatedly.  One blink...two long blinks...one blink...two long blinks...

Stan and the Jaguar joined Alonzo and Allen at the shrine, where they were attempting to brush away the dirt and leaf litter from around the edge of the plaque.  Allen's fingers brushed a divot in the marble, and he dug his forefinger and middle finger in, barely grasping tight enough to notice a perceptible shift in the marble.   Noticing the movement, Alonzo followed his lead, and soon they were lifting a heavy marble lid off the ground with a hollow, grinding noise.  Between the two of them, the lid was deposited off to the side, and when Allen shone his infrared headlight down into the container beneath, his heart nearly stopped.  Alonzo drew a sharp intake of breath, and even the Jaguar's eyes widened.  Allen stared in amazement for a moment.  In the bottom of the ancient, marble container only a foot across, were two steel canisters, each a foot long.  Resembling thermoses, they appeared relatively fresh and recent, as if someone had taken the time and energy to keep replacing the containers over the years.

Reaching down, Allen retrieved one of the canisters with a gloved paw.  Something liquid sloshed inside it, and Allen froze.  This was real.  It was really here.  Drawing his mind from the significance of what he was holding, Allen gestured for Stan to turn around.  The giant fox obliged, and Allen placed both canisters in a cushioned compartment in Stan's pack that had been designed specifically fore this exact cargo.  Once the pack was securely closed and tested for any looseness, Allen and Alonzo returned the marble lid to its place, gently setting it down and brushing the dirt back over it in an attempt to recreate the conditions from before it was opened.  As the jaguar produced a camera and began taking pictures of the shrine and their surroundings, Allen noticed an unnatural contrast of colors on the base of Ramiel's effigy.  Pointing it out to Alonzo, he brushed more dirt and leaf litter out of the way to reveal an inscription in sharpie, smeared slightly by Allen's efforts to uncover it.  The ink was fresh.

**I can't sleep**

A black leopard from the regiment stood nearby, holding an antennae skyward and speaking into a handset.  "Palomino, Lucifer 4."  he said quietly and slowly in a thick highlander accent.  "Lucifer 4, go ahead."  came the reply from miles above.  "Palomino, be advised," the leopard replied, "we have Hades.  I say again, we have Hades."

 

-~x0x~- 

 

 _One night, Ramiel decided to take his own life,_ Nick said,  _after being beaten and humiliated by his peers, he tried to drown himself in a lake, only to be rescued at the last second by a stranger named Filta, who held no grudge against him.  For the next few years, he and Filta developed a lasting friendship, and along the way, he met a female otter named Daelle, who slowly befriended him as well.  For the first time in his life, Ramiel was happy in spite of his environment.  They became a dynamic trio, and for a while, he could take his mind off his father.   Unfortunately, his community had other ideas.  In their eyes, Filta and Daelle were traitors for befriending the fox, and as such, deserved to die.  Daelle was poisoned.  Filta was kicked off a riverside waterfall close to the south coast, never to be seen again.  Ramiel broke wreck...lost his mind.  His attempt to carry out revenge was discovered, and he was arrested and imprisoned for the murder of his former childhood bully.  Instead of being sentenced to death, Ramiel was exiled, and turned loose in the world to sink or swim._

 

-~x0x~-  

 

The word was passed around for the team to begin the trek back.  Everyone began slowly making their way back downhill, slipping and sliding on wet leaves, suppressing fits of cursing as they went.  The wind was beginning to howl now, and Allen could sense the drop in pressure.  The pilots had agreed to pick them up closer than where they were dropped off, but if the storm hit in full, it would still be too far.  Just in case, a convoy of armored SUV's were staged to extract them on the road that led back to the compound.  The frozen waterfall was too slick and dangerous to descend manually, so the team had to skirt around their original path, knowing that rappelling would take too much time, not to mention make them a sniper's wet dream.  They clawed and stumbled their way through wall after wall of overgrowth, raising Allen's blood pressure every sliding step of the way.  Grasping branches, saplings, and whatever he could to control his descent, each time the prickly underbrush scraped across his face, it triggered a mental spitting fit that involved frequent use of the words _fucking bullshit._

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the base of the hill, and began the long walk across the plain.  His face covered in little, burning cuts from the thorns, and his left footpaw itching raw from the snow that had leaked into it, Allen breathed a sigh of relief.  As long as nothing happened between here and the road, they were going to be okay.  The spectacular view from only a couple of hours ago was gone.  Fog obscured everything, from the hill behind them, to the distant woods.  It was as if they were walking through and endless cloud, trapped between space and time.  Their only way to tell that they had not wandered into the void was the GPS that the point mammal carried.

The grass beneath Allen's boots was still dry.  That was strange.  All around them, the air itself was saturated with moisture, yet the grass and dirt seemed eerily devoid of it, crunching underneath his boots like the dead tangles of wheat in his hometown.  The thought sent shivers of nostalgia down Allen's spine.  As much as he hated that place with a passion, there was still a soft spot in heart for it.  Playing baseball in abandoned lots, riding dirt bikes through cornfields, furry dipping in the lake...it was all worth it.

Once again, the weight of the silence set in.  Allen began seeing shapes morphing out of the fog, and he had to blink several times, and shake out his head to remind himself that he was hallucinating.  Every mammal on the team was still in sight, and it was apparent that they were all seeing things that were not there as well.  Stan would jerk his head to the right, double taking at something on the other side of a regiment medic.  Alonzo and Kaliroy would grasp at invisible arms that seemed to grab at their fur and gear.  Even the jaguar seemed on edge, a sharp contrast to his stoic, almost psychotic love of danger.

"C'mere, Al..." an ethereal voice floated out from the void.   Allen's blood froze and he nearly tripped over his own tail as he walked.  A pretty, teenage female raccoon stood off to the side of the formation ahead of Allen to the left, dressed in a skimpy cheerleading outfit, her privates visible underneath the tiny skirt she wore.  "Let's BURN it, Al,"  she said mischievously, placing her pom-poms on her knees, "let's burn it ALL, and I'll let you DO me!"

Allen swallowed, forcing himself not to reply to the vision, who lingered as he passed by, following him with her strangely distant, deep brown eyes.  Just as relief washed over him when he realized she had vanished, another apparition took the cheerleader's place.  This one was an older male raccoon, dressed in baggy jeans and a wife beater.  His fur was sunbleached, and in his right paw was a Springfield 1911.  In the other was a bottle of whiskey.

"You piece of shit,"  he growled, "fuckin' snitch.  You fuckin' had yer dad killed, you worthless, sister-fuckin' hick."

A piece of Allen's heart broke off the rest, and plummeted down into his stomach.  Once again, he willed himself not to talk to a vision.   _It's not real,_ he thought,  _it's not real, you're not real_ ,  _you're not real._

"You outta be in prison, the shit you've done,"  his father snarled, raising the paw holding his whiskey bottle and pointing an accusing finger in his son's direction, "the truth fuckin' hurts, and you know it.  We're all pieces of shit.  Your mother was a cunt, your sister was a slut, your brother was a junkie dumbass, and you're just a fuckin' hillbilly thug.  God's gonna cut you down.  You can run on, for a long time...run on...for a long time..."  A ghostly, distant look came over his father's face, as if he were drunkenly attempting to remember the lyrics to the song.  "sooner or later...gonna cut you down..."

 

-~x0x~-  

 

  _Ramiel's heart was broken beyond repair, and his soul was tortured into submission.  Running from his pain, he encountered Bransil by accident after nearly falling to his death over the same falls that his friend Filta had been thrown into.  Shocked and unsettled by the sudden appearance of the son he believed to have died as a baby, Bransil allowed him to join his warband.  They commited unpseakable acts together, and with every passing day, Ramiel's heart grew back twisted and gnarled.  He hated the whole world, but most of all, he hated himself.  The agony of his regret threatened to consume him, and one night, he came face to face with his true self._

_Upon a lone hilltop in the highlands, Bransil prepared to make a sacrifice to the gods.  He brought forth Ramiel's adopted mother, whom his warband had captured and raped, to be blood-eagled on the ancient spot at the top of the hill, where the legend was that the Devil landed when he was thrown from heaven at the beginning of time.  Somewhere deep inside Ramiel's corroded soul, he found a spark.  He confronted his father, refusing to allow him to sacrifice the girl who raised him, and believed in him when no one else did.  When he learned that she had been raped, Ramiel broke completely, and raised his knife against his own father.  They fought for only a few seconds before Bransil drove the blade into his son's chest.  Kneeling on the hilltop, and as the story goes, surrounded by dragonflies, Ramiel ripped the dagger out of his own body, and plunged it into his father's.  In his final moments, Bransil cursed Ramiel to hell, uttering the now-famous words:  "You are just like me, Ramiel.  May you never sleep."_

_With that, Bransil Dreaven breathed his last.  The blood from Ramiel's and Bransil's wounds pooled so deep in the grass that it supposedly became a part of the soil itself, and that the hill, wherever it is, forever carries the scent of their blood._

 

 -~x0x~- 

 

An hour later, the group had traversed the plain and the valle, and eventually reached the woodline.  As they passed another little stone dragonfly, partially hidden by underbrush, Allen reflected on the thousands of those insects that had filled that hill like a constant, buzzing cloud overhead.  As he pondered it, an unsettling image surfaced in his mind.  A mercenary's painting, five hundred years old, depicting a hooded figure, surrounded by dragonflies.  A painting entitled  _Ramiel._

The fog had lifted enough for Allen to see the road ahead, and a few stars were beginning to appear.  Excitement filled his mind when he realized that the op was nearly over.  Only a few hours from now, he could have a warm shower, a hot meal, even a moment of privacy to release as much pent-up stress as possible.  However, the image of his ex's exposed lower body still lingered in his mind, and it did nothing to turn him on.  Her ghostly eyes had removed all sexual appeal.  

The black leopard made the call for the vehicles to begin their movement as everyone dug into the side of the road, waiting to be whisked away from this god-awful place.  The fog had visibly unsettled every mammal who had walked through it.  No one had escaped the hallucinations.  Kaliroy and Alonzo in particular seemed detached, and Alonzo could be seen kicking his boot at something beneath him, as if an invisible something was grabbing his leg.

A voice crackled through everyone's comms, signalling that the vehicles were at their halfway point, and would arrive within twenty minutes.   _Nearly there._

Allen suddenly noticed Kaliroy and one other mammal staring intently into in the woods on the right.  His concern mounting, Allen turned to the jaguar to alert him to their teammates' attention at something unseen.  The jaguar's icy blue eyes locked on the direction of Kaliroy's gaze.  Frowning, he made his way over to them and knelt beside the dingo, whose finger was inside the trigger well of his rifle.  "We've got movement to our three o clock."  Kaliroy whispered.  It was faint, and inexplicable, but about one hundred and fifty meters into the woods, there was a perfectly straight branch amidst the tangle that was swaying contrary to the increasing wind.  Through Kaliroy's thermals, he could see it shudder and move again, at one point making tiny, imperceptible movements, and the next: wide, sweeping ones.

"All units, DOOM 7,"  The jaguar whispered into his radio, "we are about to get contacted."

No sooner did he say this, the silent night was shattered by the appearance of distant headlights.  At first, Allen's heart soared.  They were almost home free.  Then a dull, horrific realization set in.  The headlights were arriving too soon...the convoy was still ten more minutes away.  As Allen raised his rifle, and peered through the the thermal optic, he saw that the headlights belonged to a massive, yellow box truck.  He had seen that same truck earlier, parked on the side of the road in the town as they drove through it on the way to the compound.

"That's not ours..." he breathed, thinking out loud, and voicing everyone's mind.  This was absolutely the worst moment of truth.  If they fired on the truck, and it turned out to be just a local farmer driving back home, they could be prosecuted and imprisoned for murder.  If they did not fire, and it turned out to be a truck bomb, or packed with hostile fighters, they would be caught off guard, and wiped out, the fate of the world with them.

Next to Allen, Damien Kleating lay prone on the woodline, his SR-25 perched on a small log and trained on the approaching truck's windshield.  His finger slipped inside the trigger well, and Allen could see the intense focus in his eyes.  The truck was one hundred meters away.  It was now or never.  Suddenly, however, the truck made the decision for him.  It halted a mere ninety meters away, the golden headlights illuminating the eerie, brambly trees that extended over the road, nearly blocking out the sky.  Through his scope, Allen could see movement in the cabin.  Everyone stayed concealed, hidden as best as they could in the woodline as a pair of small figures appeared from behind the truck's left side.

Allen gaped in confusion.  They were the two scowling children they had seen on the road earlier, still on their bicycles.  Their brakes squealed as they stopped in front of the truck, blocking the headlights.  One male fox, and one female, both staring directly at Allen's position.

 

-~x0x~-  

 

_Some say Ramiel died on that hill with his father.  Most don't believe so.  He supposedly traveled south again, his broken heart and soul both healed and damaged even further.  His adopted mother returned home, believing him to have died as well.  There, she had a family of her own, and her descendants spread throughout the world, but she never forgot Ramiel.  No one knows if she ever saw him again, or found out if he survived at all._

_The stories say that Ramiel wandered aimlessly, like a ghost for six years.  He fought bandits, worked where he could find it, sometimes doing terrible things for food and shelter.  He crossed a sea not once, but twice, heading south.  Lonely, hardened, and desperate for a friend, some say he fathered children he never knew along the way, finding comfort in whatever attractive female company he found.  Eventually, he found himself in a wide, sweeping desert on the edge of a beautiful, blue ocean.  That is where the trail of his story goes quiet.  Some say he settled in the community there, found peace, and started a family.  Some say he wandered farther south into the unknown.  Some say he returned north to exact revenge on the mammals who had tormented him as a child.   Some even say he sailed across the Atlantic, and settled in North America.  Some say he never died at all, and still wanders the earth, lost as he was the day he was exiled.  No one knows for sure.  One thing us foxes all believe, though, is that his children are our ancestors.  Every red fox alive today is descended from him._

_Ramiel has inspired over a millenia of legends, myths, culture, and fascination.  There are even cults that worship him as a deity, and occasionally throughout history, they have worked their way into governments, surfacing time and time again in often horrific acts of bloodlust.  Yet outside canine communities, he is virtually unknown.  His story for centuries, was discouraged in classrooms, as it was believed to inspire canines to violence.  All the same, his true story is one of redemption.  We like to believe that he overcame tremendous odds to find peace, and died a happy mammal, surrounded by his family._

 An awkward silence lingered over the room as Nick finished speaking.  Finnick was asleep, his head resting on Nick's chest, while Judy sat up in bed next to them, curled up against her husband's torso.  Nick let out a dry chuckle, seeing the array of questions in his wife's eyes.  "It's a story, carrots." he said apologetically.

Judy raised an eyebrow, "...and they tell this to  _kids?_ _"_

"The children's version is  _extremely_ watered down.  It glosses over most of the details, and mostly focuses on his life after killing his father."

"Yeah, but..."  Judy protested, feeling torn between amusement and disgust, "it's still kinda gruesome.  I just don't see how you can really explain all that in a way that won't mess with a kid's head."

"Speaking of messing with heads,"  Nick said, glancing at his phone on the bedside table, "Allen still hasn't texted me back.  I sent him the info for the security footage of the otter's suicide, and he said he'd look in five minutes."

"Doesn't he have some kind of Federal job now?"  Judy inquired, smoothing her ears down behind her head as she hopped down off the bed and made her way to the bathroom on the other side of the room.  "Like, something in counterterrorism?"

"Yeah, the guy's got the kind of security clearance you never think even exists." Nick replied, stroking Finnick's ear as Judy brought the door closed behind her for privacy, but leaving it open a few inches so she could still carry on the conversation.  

"Did he ever get you the investigation results for that rest stop?"  she asked, her voice echoing slightly.  "Nope," Nick replied gravely, "that's what he said he'd send me this evening.  He's just dropped off the face of the earth."

"Well,"  Judy replied over the sound of running water as she washed her paws, "tomorrow we'll just ask around if anyone's seen or heard from him in the past couple days.  I'm sure he's just busy."

Finnick murmured in his sleep, interrupting Nick's train of thought.   With a jolt of disappointment, he remembered the question he had been aching to ask his brother.  Now was not the best time.  Judy reappeared, flicking the bathroom light off as she struggled to put her nightshirt back on one-pawed.  As she climbed back under the covers, Judy noticed that Nick's attention was directed at the window, and when she followed his gaze, she saw immediately why.  A dragonfly was perched on the windowsill outside, not moving, but plainly alive.  It stared inside at them through compound eyes that seemed to focus forward, intent and aware.  Judy frowned, noting the insect's strange behavior.

"Carrots..."  Nick said slowly, "have you ever heard of insects being sentient?"

 _As in sentient life?_ Judy brought her knees up to her chest, watching the dragonfly's wings flutter in the wind.  "I know there's been some studies on that,"  she answered, unsettled by the dragonfly's seemingly eerie awareness of their presence, "they think it's possible that insects could be self-aware...sort of."

Judy looked back down at Finnick, who was only wearing boxers.  Reaching over Nick's legs, she pulled the covers down off Finnick's back, exposing the crude, dragonfly tattoo.  The fur had not grown back in all the years he had it, and the ink had not faded one bit.

"Where did he get this?"  Judy asked, a certain name surfacing deep within her memory bank.  Nick shook his head and shrugged as he tenderly touched the marking, "That's what I've been meaning to ask him for twenty-five years."

Thirty minutes later, Nick was awoken by distant sirens.  Picking his head up off the pillow, he blearily stared out the window at the skyline, inwardly praying that nothing was happening that would require him and Judy to be called in to work.  He was answered by the buzzing sound of his phone.  Glancing to his right, Nick breathed a sigh of relief.

**It's just a structure fire.  Go back to sleep.**

_You're a funny guy, Higgins_ Nick thought, setting his phone back down.  As adjusted Finnick and Judy in his arms, Nick noticed a figure standing next to a black SUV in the parking lot outside, underneath a glowing streetlight.   _Stuart...?_ Nick mouthed in confusion, recognizing the timberwolf he had just had over for dinner that evening.  In his sleep-altered state, he thought nothing of it, and put his head down again.  By morning, he had forgotten he had seen Stuart at all.


	12. All the Wingless Angels

 Bogo took in the famous room, bewildered by The Newcomer's seemingly intimate way of greeting a much younger and extremely attractive Fennec.  Deciding not to let it distract him, he was relieved when the white tiger got up from his desk, and walked around it, drawing everyone's attention to him.

"Bogo and I have some meetings tonight," he rasped, "and Craw,"  The masked mammal looked up, attentive as ever.  "...you've got some work to do, also?"

"I'll join you and Bogo downstairs in a few minutes Adam," Craw answered, unfolding his arms, "the door is third down the hall to the right, yes?"

Adam nodded his permission, and Craw departed, leaving Bogo, Madeline, and the Newcomer alone in the office.  "Adam,"  Madeline said, drawing his attention down to her, "if there's anything we need to do right away, I'm wide awake."

"If it's starting soon,"  The Newcomer agreed, "we don't need to sleep if ther-"

"You've been up for over fifty hours, Karbanosk,"  The raspy voice interjected, cutting him off, "Sleep.  We're in a lull.  Use the chance we've got."

Next to The Newcomer, Bogo gave an ever so subtle glance towards him, having just heard his commander in chief address the mammal he had answered to for a quarter century being addressed by what sounded like an authentic name, as if they knew each other on a differently personal level.  Karbanosk relented, nodding his acknowledgement.  Adam was right.  Even at his age, the impulsive eagerness that had possessed him as a younger mammal still showed.  He had always just pushed on indefinitely, never giving a second thought to his own limitations.  Now, he had to take care of his brain as well as he had with his body for so long.  

"You too, Miss Zerda, you've had a long couple of days.  We need you rested." Adam continued, unfolding his arms and adopting a more approachable stance, leaning back against his desk with his paws resting on the edge.  Madeline blinked and looked for a split second like she wanted to argue, but immediately nodded her agreement also. Adam flashed a rare smile at her before speaking again.

"The same room as last time.  Been refurbished a lot by my predecessor since you last saw it.  New sheets, new carpet, new shower.  I know you two have missed each other, so I'll make sure you get your privacy."

Bogo did a mental double take, and glanced from Madeline to Karbanosk and back, his characteristic stoicism scarcely able to mask his confusion.   _Your PRIVACY?_

As if he could read Bogo's thoughts, Adam smirked and gestured towards the main door to the office, where a pair of wolves in black body armor were waiting with friendly faces that contradicted their attire.  "Thank you, sir."  Madeline said in a respectful tone before turning and walking back towards the wolves.  As she passed Karbanosk, she ran her left paw up the inside of his thigh, and brushed it along his hip and around his rump as she passed, finishing with by trailing her fingers down the length of his tail.  Bogo was completely unable to look away from the shape of Madeline's lower body, and how her clothing did nothing to conceal her fertile aura.

Karbanosk watched her go for a moment, then nodded to indicate the same gratitude.  As he turned to leave, his golden-brown eyes caught Bogo's, and a hint of a confessing smile played at the corners of his mouth.  Bogo's guard dropped, and his eyes followed Karbanosk as he exited the room, his mouth hanging slightly open.  

"They go way back,"  Adam rasped, never relinquishing his endearing smile, "Madeline Zerda's never hid her sexuality from those who know her well.  In twenty-nine years, she's had more lovers than both of us combined.  Only two of them were male, and one of those two just left the room."

"He's _seventeen_ years older than her," Bogo said slowly, almost unwilling to wrap his head around the possibility.  He decided not to ask the question that was really troubling him, since it would likely break certain boundaries of conversation.  Still, he could not help but wonder how they would even go about such a relationship.

Adam shrugged, casually shaking his head, "Karbanosk attracts females half his age like moths to a streetlight."

Putting the subject out of his mind, Bogo turned to see Craw returning to the room, still wearing his balaclava.  Adam's piercing blue eyes met his, and he nodded.  "It's ready."

"We'll be in there momentarily.  I need to speak to Bates for a second."  Adam said, his tone turning serious again.  Bogo's pulse quickened slightly, knowing who they would be speaking to.  Adam stood up straight, and walked the length of the room to the door, Bogo in tow.  Craw beckoned him down the opposite end of the hall outside.

"He needs to let his security chief know where we are going.  Not that Adam needs protection on his own, mind you.  If he really wanted to, he could turn the entire world on its head, and rip out the nails that hold up everything we know."  He explained, leading Bogo down an unfamiliar corridor of the ancient, yet immaculately ornate structure.  "Yet,"  Craw continued, walking slightly ahead, "I am grateful to know he has a conscience.  In my life, I have known many such mammals, who seemed to feel the earth move beneath him like he does.  They are why he is here, and not there.  Adam is no angel, but he is no demon either."

Bogo listened patiently, his mind turning to this strange mammal beside him.  He could think of no position within his country's government that would allow one foreigner with a concealed identity so much autonomy.  Craw's demeanor sharply reminded him of various characters in books and films; the wild-card outsiders, and the lone wolves whom nobody knew how they ticked.  Karbanosk...Madeline...the weary war dog, and the wingless angel.  They all had one thing in common:  they hated being themselves.  Their lives had all been irrevocably altered in ways that had isolated them, turned their minds into their own worst enemies, and their successes were also the sources of their deepest pain.  

"You work for Z.I.A.?"  Bogo inquired, his voice low and respectful.  

"I go were I'm sent." Craw replied, almost sleepily.  

Bogo raised an eyebrow, unsatisfied with the response. "Where are you from originally?"  he pressed.

"Oxford...I was a neurology student." Craw replied in the same bored tone. Bogo nodded, recongizing the thickly veiled accent, "Russian?"

Craw nodded subtly, and fixed the police chief with a bizarre look from under his balaclava.  "Chief," he began, his lips moving underneath the fabric, "nothing we do will make sense to you.  But in time, you will understand."

Bogo frowned, not enjoying his subordinate position in this building.  His instinct told him Craw was an intelligence officer of some sort, but his training told him something was amiss.  If he could only see his face...

"Look,"  Craw continued as he led them down a flight of stairs that Bogo sensed was taking them underground, "you've got a specific role to play here, perhaps the most rewarding one.  When this is over, you will still have a life to live, and the city you are beholden to.  I cannot guarantee the same peace of mind for the rest of us.  The fennec lady will certainly suffer the most."

Adam was waiting for them with two members of his security detail on the other side of the door, in a small, brightly lit hallway with clean white walls.  Craw went past them, and opened a second door, a foot thick and made of steel, where he disappeared into the room beyond. Seeing the suspicious look on Bogo's features, Adam flashed a reassuring look.  "All you need to know about him,"  he explained, his paws resting casually in his suit pockets, "is that if he tells you to do something, you do it."

Not one to question authority, Bogo relented, and put the matter out of his head for the time being.  

Bogo and Adam sat in contemplative silence on either side of a massive, polished wooden table.  In the center between them sat a tablet screen that appeared to be turned off, or at least hibernating.  The room around them was plain, with grey walls and a drab blue carpet beneath.  The fluorescent lights were dimmed, but not so much that it was hard to see.

Finally, the tablet screen lit up.  A little green icon appeared next to an identical red one.  Bogo's eyes narrowed as Adam pressed the green one, betraying only a hint of curiosity as a strange noise crackled through the speaker.  A rare shiver of trepidation went down Bogo's spine when he heard a familiar voice echo around the room. 

"Before you start asking questions," Allen said, his normally gruff voice hoarse and tinged with exhaustion, "Let me apologize in advance if you have trouble hearing me.  It's been a long couple days."

"Take your time, LT."  Adam rasped with a faint smile, "Everyone wrap it up tight?"

"In the end, yes."  Allen replied, "We found got it done, but you're not gonna believe what happened on the way back."

"I trust you, Al,"  Adam said, his expression never changing, "everyone is okay, right?"

There was a brief pause, and but Adam continued his stoic patience until Allen spoke again.  "...Sort of."  He finally replied, "everyone's alive, but not entirely on the inside after last night."

"Were you compromised?"  Adam inquired.  

"We had an engagement on the road, waiting for the vehicles,"  Allen replied somberly, "If you've got a few minutes, I'll tell you and Bogo the short version, but you'll hear more about it soon either way."

"Go ahead,"  Adam replied, leaning forward, "might as well get it off your chest."

"Well, you know those two kids on the bikes that we sent you footage of?"  Allen began, "they're not who they look like."

 

 

 

Madeline took a deep breath and hopped up onto the bed, where she lay back with her head turned to the side and her legs dangling over the carpet.  Gazing out the window at the moving, spectacular sea of lights, she sighed again.  At least for tonight, there was an opportunity to forget the world for a few hours.  Her whole life had been like a winding river that twisted and turned without end, flowing fast at the bends, but lazy and deep in between, over and over again.  Now, after nearly thirty years she was finally beginning to smell the roaring ocean ahead.  

Karbanosk deposited his backpack on the floor by the wall, and perched on the edge of the mattress beside her.  For a moment, he simply followed her gaze at the river of cars that snaked through the city lights, lost in the simply beauty of it.  After several seconds, he placed his left paw on the covers, and slowly began walking his fingers towards Madeline's right leg, a faint smile forming on his lips that was almost playful.  Madeline turned her head back towards him only slightly, but her eyes narrowed and she returned the smile, walking her right paw out to meet Karbanosk's.  She teasingly grasped his paw like a child clinging to her parent's grasp, swinging it gently back and forth.

"You cheeky sweetheart..."  she crooned, "I missed you too.  You're still to old for me, though."

Karbanosk chuckled dryly, unable to stop himself from marveling at her lithe, muscled figure, wearing only a plain white blouse and underwear.  "I got your mama's sweater,"  He answered, stroking her bare thigh with his free paw, "did she start crocheting that pattern on everyone's?"

"Yeah, she got kinda hooked on it,"  Madeline replied rolling her right leg to the outside to allow The Newcomer's fingers to access her inner thigh, "Erica thought they were icebergs, and that she had crocheted a mural of the arctic.  Mama just humored her.  Said she missed seeing them every day."

"Do you?"

"Of course,"  Madeline giggled, "How many kids get to grow up around _icebergs?_ I used to pretend they were alive, and would name them after cartoon characters.  Simba stuck around for the longest, so he was my favorite."  

Karbanosk let out a gentle laugh, and lifted up Madeline's blouse to continue caressing her fur.  "When I visited you that first time, the one just in front of the dock looked like Yoda,"  he said, massaging the crease in her skin just beneath her bra, "just sitting cross-legged in the bay."

Madeline gasped and lifted her legs instinctively, her tail flitting rapidly as she felt his fingers sneak beneath the hem of her underwear.  Unable to stop himself, Karbanosk gently leaned down and kissed her leg, and pulled back with a look of mock disgust.

Madeline feigned offense, and hopped off the bed, and onto the carpet, where she began removing her blouse.  "If you insist..."  she breathed, barely suppressing a giggle.   She opened up her backpack, and folded the garment on the bedspread, then proceeded to unhook her bra.  Karbanosk calmly watched the striptease, knowing what was on his mind was on hers as well.

"He thinks you weren't real.  Like a false memory."  he said, "A figment of his injury."

Madeline paused, her underwear halfway down her legs.  "I know, " she admitted wearily, "and that's what I'm afraid of."  She deftly kicked the underwear off her ankle and into her outstretched paw before depositing it next to her shirt and bra.  "I'm scared of how he would react if he ever found everything out.  It would ruin him."

"It has been too long."  Karbanosk replied, agreeing with her as he stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, "but the timing...what's at stake now...if it wasn't for what happened to him in Afghanistan this would never have had to happen."

"You really think that seeing me again would help him?  That it would stop anything?"  Madeline pressed, scratching the back of her neck.  "He doesn't even know he has a..."  she trailed off and looked down at her bare stomach, her fingers instinctively caressing the skin.  Karbanosk's eyes betrayed understanding, and his mind wandered to a baby fennec, a male toddler blissfully hobbling through the snow.  A baby without a dragonfly tattoo on his back.

Madeline continued splaying her fingers in her muscled stomach fur, momentarily lost in thought.  "We were so impulsive back then," she said, lifting her eyes back up, "Just being young, curious about each other...starting to find out how good it felt to touch each other like that."  she giggled weakly in spite of herself the last part of her sentence.  Karbanosk smirked as well, and allowed her to hop back up on the bed next to him.  Madeline lay back down, her paw grasping his, but decided she was not done speaking.

"I never asked you all these years if he even suspected anything."  she continued, staring at the ceiling fan, "...did he wonder if he was being lied to?"

"He was in too busy trying to channel his anger to think anything else,"  Karbanosk replied wistfully, "but Nick, bless his heart...he was a such a smart kid.  He and Ronny found out pretty quick.  They only knew they weren't being told the truth, though.  They still never knew what actually happened."

"Luke understands better now than he used to."  Madeline said, "He used to look out at the water for hours at night, imagining he could run across the ice to find him."  As she spoke, she spread her right leg out, and grasping the toes with her right paw.  The scent of her hit Karbanosk like a slap in the face, and for a moment, all he could do was take it in, drunk on her.  Madeline's voice drew him out of his stupor before he could lose control.

"It really has to happen, though?"  She asked wearily, "he really does have to do it?"

Karbanosk sighed.  He wanted to be optimistic, as he always had.  He had convinced Bogo to be so.  The reality was, the best they could do was make him as at peace with it as possible.  Let him carry his cross up to calvary with dignity.  It would mean Karbanosk had ultimately failed, but also succeeded in a way.  He not failed to give what he had promised so long ago.  One terrible moment two and a half years ago had cut that promise short.

After a few moments silence, Karbanosk spoke again, "Maybe."  he said simply, "maybe."

Madeline took the one word answers in, frowning at the ceiling for several seconds before snapping out of her own head.  Sitting up abruptly, she hopped off the bed, causing Karbanosk to look up, startled.

"Well,"  she giggled over her bare shoulder at him, "are you coming?"

"Make me." he replied mischievously, sitting up and placing his paws on the edge of the mattress.  Madeline let out an amused laugh at the pun, picking up her discarded underwear, and chucking it at him.  Karbanosk narrowly dodged the garment, and leaped after her, snatching her off her footpaws before she could react.  Immediately, she spun around in his arms and kicked his legs backwards with her heels, causing him to land on the soft carpet with a soft thud, their lips locked.  Breathing lustily, she moved from his lips to practically biting his cheeks and jaw, enthusiastically moving down his neck while using her footpaws to roughly shove his pants down to the ankles.  Karbanosk gasped sharply as he felt her straddle him, moving her hips back and forth rhythmically.   For almost a minute, they continued their dance, while Karbanosk's calloused paws ran up and down Madeline's figure, grasping her rump tightly and massaging under the tail.

A thought struck him through the haze, and he held out a rough palm to her chest, signalling a respite.

"What?"  Madeline said, her tail twitching nervously while her body trembled, and concern mounted.  To her relief, Karbanosk gestured ahead of her, over his own to the window ten feet away, whose curtains were wide open to the city beyond.  A younger, more impulsive side of Madeline wanted to leave it open, and put on a show for anyone outside.  However, the practical side of her mind took over, and she swung her legs off of Karbanosk's waist, allowing him to retrieve his pants and make his way to the curtains.

"Adam said he'd give us privacy,"  he laughed dryly, "but the window's on us."

 

 

 

Finnick awoke suddenly, as if startled by some unseen force or noise.  With a weary groan, he picked his head up off of Nick's chest just high enough to see the bedside clock, which read two fifty five P.M.  On the other side of Nick's torso, Judy's ears rested limp on the covers, while she gave them a subtle bobbing motion in rhythm with her breathing.  Wiping the crust out of his eyes, Finnick mulled over the face that had infiltrated his dreams for the second time in two days.  She was like a folk tale of some bygone era of history, with no trace of evidence to support her even existing.  So many years had gone by, and he could not place exactly when or where he last saw her, or when he first met her.  She was there, they had spent endless days playing and living, and then she was gone.  There had been a mother, and a father, and they too, were figments of his shattered, sick brain.  Not even Nick could ever convince Finnick that she had not been an imaginary friend he had conjured up.

Yet those eyes...dazzling, vivid orange...scorching, tenacious beauty.  Darling innocence with a wild streak as thick as her fur.

Finnick carefully extracted himself from Nick's arms, and climbed down from the bed, landing on the carpet with a soft grunt.  His head swam immediately, but at least this time it was painless, like he was standing at the bottom of a pool.  In a series of a dozen stiff steps, he made his way out the bedroom door, and into the kitchen, where a pitcher of filtered water sat ready on the counter next to his glass.  After guzzling down several cupfuls and inducing a short bout of hiccups, Finnick realized he had forgotten to plug in his phone before being taken into Nick and Judy's room a few hours ago.  After searching through the pockets of his jeans, he located it, and pulled the charger from the wall next to the sofa with a short tug.  

Before he could make his way back to the bedroom, his eye caught an orange glow in the distance over the trees.  When he moved to the window to look closer, it appeared to be at least two or three miles away, and was illuminating a column of smoke that billowed up into the night.  A structure fire probably.  Ronny was probably having the time of his life right now.

He never heard the automatic gunfire that ripped throughout the city only minutes later.

 


	13. Contact

Allen's breath rose in misty circles above him as he took in the reappearance of the two children, standing silent as the grave, their footpaws on either side of their bikes. There was something very wrong with their stony silence, Allen thought, given the way they did not seem to be confused or afraid. Behind them, the box truck continued idling, filling the woods with an uncomfortable growling sound. A prickling sensation crept up Allen's back, and his fur stood on end. Slowly turning his head to look behind him, he saw only a dark, empty road surrounded by a dead forest. Yet even Alonzo, who was among those on rear security, was tense and alert with his hackles raised, his eyes fixed on the road behind them.

"This is Two-Five, I've got movement to my left." someone whispered through the radio on the other side of the road from their concealed position. Sweat poured down Allen's face despite the cool, misty weather. Whatever was happening, needed to happen. They could not just sit here forever.

The box truck seemed to answer for him, and it slowly began to roll forward, the children on bikes skirting around either side to let it pass. Three dozen hidden barrels pointed at the windshield, everyone's worst fear realized. The ultimate dilemma: to shoot or not to shoot. Shoot and risk an international incident or prison if they were wrong. Not shoot, and risk everyone dying, failing everything. Time stood still, and everyone waited on their leader's order. As if on cue, a faint light caught Allen's eye, coming from somewhere on the road behind the approaching truck. It was like the glint of light on a barrel, or a pair of glasses, or-

"Contact."

The distant fox's eyes were white as snow. Easily visible in the otherwise pitch darkness, as was the AK-47 he held level, carefully aimed directly at Allen's head. Their eyes met, and for a split second, they shared a strangely intimate moment. Two hunters on a mutual quest to end each other's lives, and acknowledging that fact like a handshake before a boxing match. Allen's finger twitched first. He fired, and the bullet slammed directly between the fox's eyes.  

A short, but furious burst of gunfire shattered the stillness of the moment, the team's suppressed weapons snapping rapidly in response to the deafening automatic gunfire that erupted all around. Through their IR designators, they were able to keep track of where everyone else was aiming, and follow the laser beams wherever a particularly stubborn gunmammal was hiding.

Through Alonzo's sights, he could make out at least half a dozen different muzzle flashes along the road to his right, stretching out in the direction they had come. Along with several others, he simply went from target to target, putting out the lights with quick, practiced efficiency, all without having to flatten himself down or find better cover. Amidst the flashing lights, he saw something illuminated in the road behind him that made his heart stop.  Whenever gunfire would break out, a horrific, grotesque figure would appear in the road only fifty meters away, closer each time.  Devilishly handsome, yet terrifying beyond belief. It was there one second, and then it was gone, replaced by a thick, inky shadow that was darker than the night around it. A horrible memory boiled up, and for a moment, Alonzo was looking into the terrifying eyes again, seconds before being grabbed and drug underwater by an unseen force.

Allen continued firing down the road for several rounds, before directing his fire on the oncoming truck, which hissed and roared as it sped up, headlights shining like twin eyes as it barreled towards them. Smoke and dust was filling the air around it like an aura as bullets peppered the windshield. Allen tensed his ankles and knees, preparing to leap up and break contact if the truck drew to too close.  Nearby, the Jaguar rolled to his left side, and spat short five-count bursts into the trees, each one sending a hidden enemy toppling in a shower of blood. 

About seventy meters away, the truck finally tipped over, it's driver having been killed. As if in slow motion, it swayed and lurched towards Allen's side of the road, finally coming to rest in a smoky heap, halfway lodged in the tangled underbrush. Silence crashed in like noise, and the headlights went out, plunging the road into darkness once more. Several minutes passed, and no one crawled out of the cabin. Finally, Stan's voice crackled through.

"Push out to the truck.  Socks, Esmond, open that door up."

Everyone slowly got up, and made their way towards the smoking hunk of metal and rubber.  Alonzo and the others pulling rear security kept their eyes fixed on the road behind them, stunned into horrified silence. It could have been his imagination, but Alonzo thought he could faintly hear footsteps crunching on the dirt behind them, following them.

Allen was the first to reach the truck. Keeping his barrel pointed at the dark windshield, he approached silently and carefully, expecting someone to jump out from around it at any moment.  Kleating grasped the door handle, and at Allen's nod, he pulled it open. Allen and Kaliroy braced themselves for a dead body, or an ambush, but to their total shock, the cabin was empty. There were no visible bloodstains anywhere on the upholstery or dashboard, and no sign of anyone even being in the driver's seat. Kaliroy placed one footpaw on the step, and leaned inside momentarily. The keys were in the ignition, but there was no sign of a driver having escaped.

Ten feet away, Stan and the rest of the team were inspecting the back, having wrenched open the box door. Inside, was nothing but stacks of sod. The horror began to set in as Stan desperately rifled through the muddy layers of grass, looking for some reason the truck could have been weaponized.   _What the fuck...what the fuck..._ he thought furiously, picturing himself and the rest of his team fighting for their lives in front of a foreign court, and rotting away in a dark prison alongside murderers and rapists, cut off from society and his family while the world scorned them.  This could not be how their lives were ending, or how he had wanted to honor Julian.  This simply could not be happening.

Right as Stan was about to give in and just let the tears take him over, the Jaguar let out a loud gasp of surprise.  Stan turned around to see his friend standing over a gap in the sod that he had torn, his features uncharacteristically stunned.  Once he had clambered over, Stan peered down to the floor, where a wire protruded from underneath the sod.  Stan's eyes widened as he traced it back along rows of torn sod to the far wall, where brick after brick of what appeared to be clay was camoflauged against the beige container.

"That's...a lot of fucking C4."  The Jaguar muttered, slowly backing up as he produced a small camera.  He snapped dozens of pictures rapidly, trying to get a complete mapping of the box truck's interior.  Meanwhile, others outside were doing the same.  Relief flooded Stan's heart, knowing this revelation would save them from any legal problems.  Still, the one thing they had not avoided was secrecy.  An international incident was now all but inevitable, but they would be safe in any investigation.

"Theseus, this is St. George, we are one minute out."  Came an English accent through the radios.  Up ahead, Allen could hear the low rumble of approaching tires.  Turning to Kaliroy, he sighed deeply as everyone made their way to the side of the road again.  After several seconds of pouring through his mind for something relevant to say, Allen settled for the most simple statement he could think of.

"What the fuck." he whispered, noticing the shaken look in the dingo's eyes.  Kaliroy nodded in agreement, too tired to reply.  Catching sight of Alonzo crouched rigidly against a log, facing backwards, he crept over to him.

"What is it, buddy?" Kaliroy inquired, keeping his voice low.  The hyena was visibly shaking, his fur still standing on end.  He slowly pointed at the road behind them, and even through his night vision, Kaliroy could scarcely pick up enough ambient light to see anything.  Pushing them up, he saw nothing at all.  

"It...was...there..."  was all Alonzo could gasp out.  Kaliroy's internal alarm bell went off, knowing what his friend meant.  As the line of armored trucks slowed to a stop, their headlights all turned off, Kaliroy gently nudged Alonzo back to reality.  Shaking his head out like he was simply tired, the hyena clambered into the backseat of the nearest vehicle, followed by Kaliroy, Allen, and Kleating.  Once they had been crammed inside, and a quick head count had been taken to ensure that nobody was missing, the trucks began a slow turnaround, each one giving the other enough space to turn towards the woods, then back up to the right again before picking up speed.

As the scene of their gunfight passed by, Allen spotted the body of the fox he had met eyes with.  He seemed relatively healthy and well-kept, dressed in a thick jacket and fatigues.  An expensive backpack hung over his head, barely clinging to his shoulders after having fallen backwards, Allen's bullet having ripped through it.  Next to the body, however, was an SR-25 nearly identical to Kleating's.  The Jaguar's camera clicked up ahead, taking every ounce of evidence he could.

For nearly an hour, they bounced along the ancient dirt road, the mammals at the windows keeping their weapons pointed outwards.  Crammed between the door and Kaliroy, Alonzo watched the road disappear behind them in a cloud of dust, while the dead forest turned to mountains again.  After so many years of horrific dreams, he had finally caught a glimpse of what had altered his and Kaliroy's lives forever.  Invisible fingers grasped at his body armor, he flinched, forcing the memory of the water flooding his throat out of his mind's eye.  Seeing his friend's distress, Kaliroy quickly wrenched his left arm free, and placed it on Alonzo's shaking chest.  Alonzo jumped, and his ears twitched strangely as he fought to recover his presence of mind.  Kaliroy kept his paw there the entire ride back, keeping him steady.  In Alonzo's mind's eye, he could still see the figure appearing and disappearing, advancing with every flash of light, before turning into an inky, moving shadow.  The eyes bored into him like it had twenty-two years ago, so beautiful, and so horrifying.  Shaking him to the core.

No one heard the echoing thunderclap of a box truck detonating.

 

 

 

One knelt down by the fox's corpse, marveling at the way he seemed to only be stargazing, his eyes wide open and full of wonder as they had been the day he had been born.  That whole lifetime...all the years of learning and growing, fighting and playing, loving and discovering, all culminated in the inexplicable moment a bullet entered the flesh between his eyes.  So much sadness in the reality of any death.  It was never noble, even if for the right reasons.  It still tore the killer apart.  One knew better than anyone.  Where he was from, as was this fox, death was nothing.  Life was cheap, and those who valued it too much were weak, and would fall apart when those they had clung to went away, as everything in life did.  They killed at the drop of a hat back home, so in a way, life was also simple: be the hunter or be the hunted.  Overtime, One had learned that in the world outside, that relative peace of mind could only be accomplished with other hunters like him.  A lone mammal in the wild was a dead mammal, and as a result, One had developed an intimate devotion to others like him.

His footsteps clinked strangely as they disturbed the numerous shell casings that littered the dirt.  Foreign rounds used by his country's sworn adversary.  As much as One had grown up despising and mocking them, as an older, more mature being, he had come to respect his enemy.  Their love for one another, and unwillingness to abandon their own had fascinated him for years, and often he had believed it to be their downfall.  They would sacrifice everything for each other, even their own material success.  One saw this as a weakness: they did not want to die.

One's hawk-like eyes caught a tuft of yellow fur clung to a root on the left side of the road, and he stopped in his tracks.  His nostrils flared, and he felt an unsettling twinge of pain in the calloused knuckles under his gloves.  The unmistakable scent of  _him_  wafted through the air like an invisible mist.  Scowling, he approached the wad of strands with an air of near reverence, but also of caution.  Kneeling down again, he picked the fur of the root with steady fingers, and inhaled deeply.  For the first time since he was a child, One felt fear trickle through his granite spine, all the way down to the dragonfly tattoo on his lower back.

Thirty feet away, Two and Three studied the box truck's empty cabin in contemplative silence.  The locals had acted alone, but used the materials supplied to them well.  Every foreign militant, and every gullible, radicalized kid from this country's only large city that made up the ragtag militia had been killed.  Useful idiots fulfilling their purpose, and marinating the meat with fear.

Two sniffed the air thoughtfully.  No matter how many steps they had taken to conceal their scent, the adversary could never mask it completely.  The tangy smell of a male Racoon...the bold odor of a dingo...a hyena...a red fox with so much testosterone it clung to the air, and...a Jaguar.   _The_ Jaguar.  Amidst the varied, unique scents of thirty-odd, sweating mammals, one stood out.  Three could sense it as well, and was starkly reminded of the way those blue eyes pierced him years ago.  All twelve mammals who circled the truck seemed to be aware of it now, and it was sending ripples of uncertainty through them.  Several meters away, a dulcet tone crackled through One's radio, and he slowly stood up.

"What's up, smiley."  said the voice, speaking as though he was just a casual friend.  Expressionless, One leaned his head down to the speaker.  "They have canisters."  he replied, "all fighters are dead, Dola."

"Of course they do."  the voice chuckled, "and of course they are.  Don't worry, bubba.  Make sure they get home safe.  It's so... _boring_  for them to die _there._ "

"What are you saying?" One inquired, frowning.  "Remember where you were that day?"  the voice said in the same lighthearted tone. "where were you...when the world stopped turnin'...?"

"You are insane."  One thought out loud in a half-mutter, but believing it wholeheartedly.  Good-natured laughter was the response.  

"Just figured that out?"  the voice replied, but with a malevolent tinge that puzzled the hardened mercenary, "that's what mammals  _are."_

"Does Caphias know?"  One asked, keeping his tone civil, "is that pet of his behaving?"

"Reluctantly."  was the reply, "Maybe I'll make him into a rug.  Have fun."

With that, the radio went quiet.  One glanced down with an eyebrow raised, frowning in confusion and resentment.  He keyed in three more times, attempting to get a response to no avail before he finally decided that he was better off not knowing any further details.  Turning to two and three, he waved them over.

"Detonate it."  One ordered, pointing at the truck, "we're done here."

 

 

 

Thousands of miles away, Caphias listened contentedly to the deafening roar of forty-foot flames, which shot into the inky-starless sky over Zootopia.  Like enormous, elemental cancers, there was an eerie theatrical vibe to it, like an exceptionally visually-stimulating play.  From his vantage point, he could watch it unfold in peace and privacy, not a care in the world.

His ears pricked up when footsteps approached from behind.  Not bothering to turn around, Caphias gestured his guest forward.  "It's just the funniest thing," he muttered, "the whole world stops for them..."

Down below, little figures darted out from a swarm of mammals, who all seemed to move like cloud of angry hornets, throwing flaming objects at the subject of their delusional hatred.  A faint  _pop_ was heard, and Caphias inhaled the pungent aroma of tear gas.  The crowd scattered like roaches, their fire-throwing momentarily interrupted.

"Why strive for anything, then?"  The figure said, sounding almost bored.  "If they are better off letting  _everything_ they have ever worked for go to waste, what's the point, Caphias?"

Caphias ignored the loaded question, and instead kept his eyes on the scene beneath him, which was becoming increasingly volatile by the second.  Some of the hornets seemed to have focused their attention on the ZPD riot teams, and were now directing their projectiles at them.  An officer was pelted full in the chest by a flaming bottle, and immediately, the crowed zeroed in, a cheer going up among them as they tried to finish the downed, burning officer.  Several of the officer's teammates rushed forward, some absorbing the impact of numerous rocks and bricks while others quickly doused the officer with fire extinguishers.  Once any resistance was made on the part of the ZPD, the crowd retreated, aggressive and full of emotional energy, but terrified to directly fight officers they knew they were no match for.

"You never even had to lift a finger..." Caphias mused, his arms resting on the ledge, "...some punk kids who never learned any proper history took it upon themselves, without even asking."

"They are blind."  The figure commented, "parasites with no hope of competing in the hierarchy."

"Easy to manipulate, for sure."  Caphias replied, smirking.  Finally, he turned to the figure, noticing that he was holding his paw out.  In his gloved palm, was a small, red ribbon.  A tie for a child's headfur.

Caphias eyed the ribbon, nodding his approval, "That's it, then?"

"Test him, not kill him."  The figure answered, almost reluctantly.  Caphias glanced back down at the chaos below, and smiled sardonically.  "Should Dola wonder about you?" he asked, "Can we trust you to not get emotional?   _Have_ you ever felt emotion?"

"I will fulfill..."  The figure's stare could have melted a rock, "...the only purpose I have ever had, and ever will."  With that, he turned on his heel, and walked away into the night.  

Caphias remained where he was, lost in thought while he fished through his pockets for a phone.  After dialing, he casually rested against his ear, one paw still holding the ledge.  "He's going to make contact now..." Caphias said calmly, "...yes...he's sounding reluctant...when this is done, make him into a rug."


	14. Lucy's Inferno

“Truth is something that burns.”   
― _Jordan B. Peterson_

 

In some dark corner of the world, along a lonely mountain trail overlooking an enormous valley that time forgot, Finnick was anxious.  Wiping the thick talcum powder off of his exposed fur,  he adjusted the balaclava that did nothing whatsoever to shield him from four days of constant movement and dust.  His vision momentarily clear, he looked out at the martian landscape, the remoteness of their position dawning on him truly.  They were like aliens here.  No one had ever successfully conquered this place, because life did not matter here.  Those who had settled here simply survived.  If a child died, it only meant one less mouth to feed.  Unfit for habitation, this place had seen its share of visitors.  Alexander the Great had failed.  The Brits had failed.  The Soviets had failed.  Finnick was here for different reasons, but the stark reality of this place was no less apparent.  As his GMV trundled by a village that looked like something from the old testament, Finnick saw a little wolf boy staring up at him, mouth agape.  Made ancient beyond his years by this place, Finnick knew he looked like a god to this child.  Their vehicles were witchcraft, and their guns were dark magic.  Time had truly stopped here long ago.

On and on, up and up, the convoy climbed.  From his vantage point in the trunk, Finnick could see shadows flitting behind rocks and trees on the opposite end of the valley.  The eyes in the hills stared at them like hawks, waiting for their moment to prove why no one had ever conquered the place they now ran a sinister mafia organization from.  Behind Finnick, Planinski seemed more on edge than what was typical for the soft-spoken panther.  Only hours ago, he had gotten into a vicious shouting match with the chief of the local border police, a sleazy character from some bygone Soviet regiment.  The local drivers who had been deliberately sabotaging their efforts for days were panicky and completely unreliable.  Finnick had to keep his head on a swivel around them, knowing that their loyalty was only to their tribe.  Western concepts of national loyalty and pride were foreign to them, and they had no interest in whatever nation-building effort they were fed.  All their puppet president saw was a lot of money he could steal. 

Finnick resolutely stayed the course, despite his aching back and rear, hoarse voice from the dust, and inability to relieve himself.  The thought of letting his guard down, and something happening in that inexplicable moment due to his negligence was unbearable.  Those thoughts were acid, and had to be acknowledged, but not dwelt on.  As the wheels of their vehicle crept along the valley's knife edge, a faint flicker of light caught Finnick's eye.  The waning sunlight vanished behind the mountain, and time stood still as the flaming projectile hurtled towards its target like the angel of death.

Before Finnick's mind could register that he was about to die, the RPG impacted the rear passenger side door of their GMV with an anti-climactic thud, only two feet away from Finnick's seat in the trunk.  It ricocheted off the door and was thrown headlong into the moondust at the foot of the rear right tire of the vehicle ahead, where it poked out of its little crater, red hot and smoking.  It had failed to detonate, thanks to some assembly mishap that took place in the 1980's.

"CONTACT RIGHT!"

The ancient valley erupted with the fire and thunder of the modern world.  Tracers zipped back and forth like a light show, filling the landscape with a level of noise it had never seen.  Finnick's heart remained steady, and he began squeezing off bursts at any muzzle flash he saw on the opposite ridge.  Pinned against a sheer rock face on the left, and and facing a steep chasm on the right, this was what Finnick had been growing increasingly afraid of.  When he was eighteen, time meant nothing to him, and he had no frame of reference.  Death was so far off, and he was so young.  Now, at twenty-four, he knew his luck could run out at any moment, and the thought of dying for nothing so far from home was too horrid to describe.

Up on top of the turret, Allen's minigun produced a thunderous hum that shook Finnick to the core.  No matter how many times he had heard that thing, it never failed to leave him in awe, or with hearing damage.  With every burst, Allen flattened trees and rocks, tearing into their enemy's hideouts and ripping their bodies apart in a devastating display of the western world's might.  Belching fire, it illuminated the vehicle oddly, like a flare.  Then like lamp.

 

 -~x0x~- 

 

Finnick was jostled awake by Nick's attempt to deposit him gently back down on the mattress, having gotten up in a hurry.  Blinking the crust out of his eyes, Finnick glanced at Nick's phone, which hummed urgently, made louder by the wooden table it rested upon.  Three-ten.  He had only been asleep for a couple of hours.  Realization hit him like a brick, and he sat up too quickly, causing the room to swim.  Nick and Judy bustled around the room, throwing on their uniforms with deadly serious looks.

"Gotta run, bud."  Nick explained as he donned his duty belt, "Something's happening downtown, and we're being called in to work."

Remembering the distant fire he had seen only half an hour ago, Finnick nodded, taking in the seriousness in his brother's features.  "I'll be fine here, Nick."  He replied, forcing himself to believe it.  "I'll call Stuart or Mom if anything happens."

Nick's expression faltered when he realized that Finnick would be at home by himself in his vulnerable state.  Until the night before last, he would have thought nothing of it.  Now, it was as if Finnick was a time bomb, who could need medical help at any moment.

"Alright," Nick said, nodding reassuringly, "I'll give Mom, Katy, and Stuart a call and let them know.  We'll be back soon, bud, okay?"

"Roger that,"  Finnick replied confidently, standing up on the mattress and walking forward into Nick's waiting arms.  Feeling Nick clasp him tighter than usual, Finnick found himself in a position of reversed roles.  He had once been about depart on a dangerous endeavor, with Nick anxiously waiting at home for him to return alive.  When they pulled apart, Judy appeared, and gave Finnick a quick hug and peck on the forehead.

"We''ll keep you updated," she said kindly, ruffling his head, "hang in there."

"Stay safe."  Finnick replied with a smile.  Once the door had shut, Finnick remained seated for several more seconds, an odd mixture of emotions pouring through him.  Nick and Judy's professions had in recent years become increasingly more dangerous, with an emboldened criminal element and a cultural abhorrence of what they stood for being the new normal.  As much as he worried that each time they left for work that it could be the last time, the psyche that his own former career had instilled in him kept on surfacing.  For so long, it had been simply part of his mental framework to run towards trouble like whatever was happening downtown, and be the force that resolved it.  Instead, he felt discarded, like he was too broken and irreparable to be useful, and left alone in the closet.  Looking out at the rising smoke, familiar energy surged through him, the fighter in him screaming to be let out again.  He could not live like this anymore, trapped in this cage with his claws cut off.  Drawing his knees up to his chest, he gripped his own ears tightly, forcing out the sound of the minigun, wishing he could both relive it and forget it simultaneously.

Like he always did, Finnick put it out of his mind, leaning back down on the mattress with a soft sigh.  Nick's scent still hung in the air, which comforted him somewhat, like it had all those years ago when Finnick could not wake up from his night terrors.  As confusing as those times were, childhood also had a sort of generality that was hard to reattain later in life.  With only ten or so years worth of memories, things could be approached as they were.  There was a path in life to follow, and it was all one knew.  None of the existential dread, or confrontations with mortality were pressing matters back then, so the world could have an illusion of sense.  At eighteen, the kid that had walked into a recruiter's office and asked to be signed up for a whole career out of desperation to get out of his hometown had no idea what twenty years meant.  He had not even lived that long.  By twenty-four, he counted his blessings, figuring ninety would be a good age to be.  By twenty-seven, he was watching the life cycle repeat itself.   Being a parent changed the way he looked at the world, and suddenly the career he had lived for was no longer the end all be all.  To be a parent, Finnick had figured out, meant one had to be complete in their own upbringing.  Growing up was done.  Life was moving forward, and it had been his turn to pass the torch.

After several minutes of fruitless tossing and turning, he decided that sleep was a lost cause for the time being.  Remembering that he had the weekend off, Finnick resigned himself to catch up on lost sleep during the day if necessary.  He would need to rest anyway.  Hopping down off the bed, he made his way to the living room and retrieved his still half-full glass of water, where the distant glowing smoke was still visible through the sliding glass door.  This time, he could make out massive flames licking the inky sky, rising above the buildings around it.  Finnick paused mid-sip, realizing with a shiver of awe and concern that the flames would have to be at least thirty or forty feet high given the scale of the structures they rose out of.

Sitting down on the sofa with his full glass, Finnick began flicking through the news feed on his phone, passing several minutes looking for something relevant.  Stopping on an article about neurology students in Russia studying the effects of brain injuries on each of the two hemispheres separately, he let himself become absorbed in it for a short while.  The students had suggested that patients with injuries primarily to their left side were more prone to chronic depression, and those with injuries to the right side were associated with memory loss.  With twinge of annoyance, Finnick closed out the article and accidentally hit his photo album icon.  He had been hoping for something more recent and groundbreaking, instead of information he already knew all too well.  Too keep himself from fuming about it internally, he began flicking through old pictures, passing some that generated a lump in his throat.  Nick's ZPD Adademy graduation, Uncle Stan's homecoming from Syria, Planinski's wedding, and inexplicably...a selfie he had taken with Elena and Lucy only a year before he lost them.  They had seemed like such a happy family then, with Finnick so unprepared for the level of resentment that Elena would grow to hold for her husband's job, which would take him away to dangerous places over and over again, when all she wanted was for him to be able to stay home for once.  

A flicker of light caught his attention, originating from somewhere in the thin line of trees that lined the median between the parking lot and the street beyond it.  Thinking nothing of it, he went back to refilling his glass when the light appeared once more, this time resembling a lighter.  Glancing up at it, Finnick frowned, intrigued.  It only took five more seconds for the light to flicker again.  This time, it lingered.  Unable to work out a possible source for the light other than some night-dwelling homeless mammal or crack addict, Finnick kept his eye on the trees, not wanting to miss anything.

His phone lit up, and the text read:

_Mom and Katy are on their way.  Stuart said he'd be there too.   Love you buddy, rest up._

Somewhere deep in the circuitry that detected one's young, a familiar spark appeared.  Picking his head up, he sniffed curiously, tasting the subtle aroma.  Instantly, the fur on the back of his neck stood on end.  With shaking limbs he stood up, following its increasing potency towards the window.  He carefully slid the glass frame open only a crack, wanting to keep his heart rate calm so as not to react impulsively to anything.  As he pushed the door open a few inches more, his footpaw slipped on the smooth carpet, and impacted the steel rail that the door slid on.  Momentarily distracted by the pain that exploded in the toes of his right footpaw, he took a few more minutes to calm himself down, repeating silently to himself that it could not be her.  It was his imagination, like always.  It was not real.

As if on cue, Finnick's eye caught the movement of someone in the parking lot below.  As he slowly turned his head towards the pavement, the wider his eyes grew.  Once Finnick had straightened up, his breath caught in his throat.  Wasting no time, he shut the sliding glass door, locked it, and quickly ran to his dresser to throw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie.  Not even bothering to put on socks, he shoved his numb footpaws into his running shoes and tied them haphazardly before snatching his keychain, phone, and knife.  Having donned his faded, red-and-black striped beanie, he sprinted out the door, locking it quietly behind him.  Praying she would still be there, he bounded down the concrete steps, his heart in his throat, and his misty breath streaming out behind him.

Reaching the bottom step, Finnick turned the corner and stopped fifty feet away from a small figure in a nightdress.  His heart dropped into his stomach.  She was unmistakable.  A tiny, feminine figure who stared up at her father like she had the day before he had lost her.

"Lucy...wait..."  Finnick muttered out loud, starting towards the silhouette of his lost daughter, who turned and began to jog ahead, giggling as she went.

 

 -~x0x~- 

 

Nick's heartbeat was steady as he, Judy, and several other officers stepped out of the van utilized to transport them from the Precinct One station to the location of the riot.  As his boots hit the asphalt, he inhaled the viscious aroma of a burning structure.  The pavement was practically rippling with heat despite the snowy landscape, and small chunks of ash were raining down around them hitting his fur as they descended.  They were situated on a long city street lined by multi-story buildings, which were mostly shops and offices, and in the distant end of the street, a glowing light was visible.  An ominous roaring sound echoed from somewhere just out of sight, about a mile away.  

They were led across the street, and through a door that led down a flight of stairs, and into an expansive basement that was serving as a makeshift forward operating base.  An overwhelmingly powerful sense of tension gripped Nick as he made his way downstairs, and into what looked like a base camp for wartime.  Exhausted police officers from both the ZPD and the Sheriff's office milled about, sweaty and sleep-deprived.  Some still had their body armor on, and others had removed most of their outer layers in hope of cooling off despite the frigid winter night.  Some others sported visible injuries, including one cheetah with a bloodstained bandage on his head, the fur on his cheek and neck still caked with dried blood.  He quietly sipped from a Gatorade bottle, staring into space while another officer and a paramedic knelt beside him, peeling the shattered, bloody shin guards off of his ruined legs.  Next to him, sat his riot helmet, the bulletproof visor cracked and rendered useless.  Another officer lounged nearby, sweating profusely while another paramedic injected him with morphine.  As they walked past him, Nick caught sight of the officer's arm, which had been hidden from view.  Instead of a gloved paw, there was a blunt stump, covered in a wad of bandages that had were soaked completely through, the bleeding having only stopped once a tourniquet had been applied.  Nick's eyes lingered on the dismembered stump, captivating him like a horror movie.

A group of firefighters surrounded a whiteboard in the corner, mixed in with about a dozen mammals in full tactical gear.  Nick knew them from sight that they were not ZPD or ZCSO SWAT, but federal agents, due to their somewhat rough-cut appearance.  A few even had headfur long enough to poke out through their helmets.  Their apparent team leader was a red wolf with his MICH helmet tucked under his arm while he spoke to his team and the assembled firefighters.  Nick recognized the familiar rangy figure of Scott Markin, who now sported a thick, graying mustache that ran down the sides of his mouth.  Despite the increasing onset of heath complications, and even lung cancer, nothing had knocked Scott off of his post.  Not even the infamous day seventeen years ago, when two towers buried him under rubble and death.

The two officers who had escorted them and the other new arrivals inside gestured in his direction.

"That's where you'll be briefed," the warthog grunted, pointing, "He's the guy you'll answer to for the time being in the chief's absence.  Chief Markin is the incident commander.  Before you go to him, sign in at the table to your left."

They made their way across the floor to the red wolf, catching bits of his conversation with his audience as they approached.  Hardened and radiating tough, savvy leadership, the red wolf was sweating profusely as he spoke, his massive shoulders heaving as he breathed through his own body heat.

"This started faster than most riots do," he said, his free arm gesturing at a printed photograph of the initial fire, "they were targeting this apartment complex specifically.  The fire itself was the goal, but the violence we saw tonight was only a crime of opportunity by an anarchist group I think we're all familiar with.  What we've been able to determine with some degree of reasonable assurance, is that the actual arsonist had no connection to this group, and was acting alone.  The fire originated from the basement area, and due to the amount of flammable building materials, such as laminates and cheap furniture inside , it was able to build into forty-foot flame height fairly quickly.  After the previous unit contained the fire, some of you came forward to report suspicious items in the wreckage, and our arson investigators are uncovering more.  Scott, you want to fill us in on what your team team found?"

"Several of us," Scott Markin said, wiping the sweat off of his visor, "saw some items of interest as we were continuing mop-up.  An assortment of personal belongings that pertain to two individuals who are known to have passed away in 2015.  Portraits, clothes, and other keepsakes were found in one of the apartments, and Lupek's team was able to research the identities of the mother and child in the portraits, and whose clothes are the same that are in those images.  The mother had recently separated from her husband, who is a recovering veteran, wounded in action only months earlier.  She moved here with her daughter to take care of him, where she stayed for less than a year in 2014, before they both passed away in a car accident in January 2015.  This apartment complex was where she moved into after separating from her husband, but all of her belongings were returned to her next of kin.  The apartment has been empty ever since."

One of the firefighters, who appeared to be another supervisor, raised his paw.  Scott nodded his permission.

"Sir," the firefighter said, "are the mother and child in question fennecs?  I was on the responding unit to the crash you just mentioned."

"That is correct."  Scott replied gruffly, "Their names were Elena and Lucy Wilde.  Do you remember there being no trace of any driver of the semi?"

The firefighter nodded his head, "None, sir."

Seeing Nick, Judy, and the others arriving on the outskirts of his semicircle, Scott's expression softened.  Lupek caught Nick's eyes, and nodded.  "Give me a sec,"  he said, "I need to brief them for a moment, and I'll get back to you."  Lupek squeezed through the small throng towards Nick, where he extended a calloused palm to shake.  "James Lupek"  he said, glancing apologetically at his sweaty glove as Nick and Judy shook it, "HRT Senior Team Leader.  If you'll bear with me for a minute or two, I'll walk you through what I need you to do."

Nick nodded, unsure of what to say in the presence of this mammal who looked as though he had spent his whole adult life in a gladiator arena.  They followed Lupek away from the whiteboard, and towards another spreadsheet, which was filled with images of the night's events.   As they gathered around it, they passed a plastic folding table that was covered in burned personal belongings from the apartment complex, from wallets and keepsakes to expensive knives and family photos.  Nick's heart skipped a beat when he noticed a singed red ribbon resting on top of a child's shoe.  He stopped in his tracks, familiarity rising.  _Those can't be hers._

"Hold on..."  Nick said, holding up his paw to get Judy's attention, "what's that?"  

Lupek, Judy, and their fellow officers followed Nick's pointed finger to the ribbon and the shoe. "Those are items that the survivors will likely want to recover."  Lupek explained, putting his paws on his hips, "we bring them in here to collect them if they report anything."

"This ribbon, and this shoe,"  Nick said, narrowing his eyes, "are  _exactly_ like what Fin's daughter used to wear."  Judy's ears pricked up, and she stepped up to the table to get a closer look.  With a gloved paw, Nick picked up the ribbon and turned it over.  There were initials in permanent marker on on end, spelling out  **L.W.** Fingers shaking now, Nick turned the shoe over to its soul, which read  _ **Lucy Eliza Wilde.**_

Judy's paw shot to her mouth in spite of herself.  Lupek raised an eyebrow suspiciously, recognizing the name, and he began looking through the rest of the items, searching for something else with an inscription.  Nick, however, felt the truth of the matter crashing full force into him.  Either Lucy had never actually died, or it had not been an accident at all.  Some kind of primordial alarm bell went off in Nick's head, and he thought of Finnick.

"Carrots..." he said, his voice shaking slightly, "call Fin, make sure he's still home..."   _Please still be home._


	15. London Bridge

In the media room of the world's most iconic building, Bogo stood before a lone camera crew, steadying himself like he had so often, preparing to make the address he owed to the world.  As routine as this was, the gravity of his responsibility never escaped him.  Underneath the stoic, formidable police chief's outer shell was an acute awareness of his own capacity for every failure imaginable.  In a quarter century of learning the hard way about every facet of mammal behavior, he had come to understand that no one was ever immune to the same demons that infected the worst criminals.  Occasionally, he had caught glimpses of the monster within, usually during moments of extreme emotion and isolation.  Bogo knew he had tricks up his sleeve and a darker, more malevolent version of himself tucked away deep down where it could never surface, but he always felt it stirring.  This knowledge had, as with age and experience, brought Bogo to be more forgiving and understanding of how mammals suffered, and how to change their lives for the better.  It had taught him to care about the aesthetics of his career more than he had as a young, fiery police officer with an immature desire to simply punish the damned.

To his left, Adam stood with his paws folded in front of him, his face confident and his jaw set.  At the signal from the camera crew, Bogo drew a silent breath, and began to speak as easily as if he were talking to his family at dinner.

"Tonight, as I was meeting with President Solomon, it came to my attention that a radical anarchist group targeted an apartment complex in Savannah Central tonight, where they set fire to the structure.  Although we do not yet have an official count on the matter, it is with deep sorrow that I acknowledge that at least several of the residents have perished, including one child.  Our officers have been working tirelessly in conjunction with the fire and emergency services to resolve the matter, and bring those responsible to justice.  In the course of the night, nearly a dozen officers and deputies have been hospitalized, as well as numerous citizens who were targeted by the anarchist group when they fled the scene of the fire, and began shooting fireworks into traffic on the overpass at I-18.  To my officers, I could not be more proud of you tonight.  This incident has tested us to our core, and reminded us of why we do what we do, and who serve.  I will be back home shortly to personally oversee the investigation.  To the Fire and EMS personell, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.  To those who have lost loved ones tonight, know that we will make sure they did not die in vain.  To the nihilistic bunch of losers who think the can get away with murdering the citizens of my city in some narcissistic pursuit of revenge for the burden of being, know that the devil is more real than you think."

The camera crew gave their indication that the session had concluded, and Bogo allowed his mind to relax again.  Turning to Adam, he allowed his commander and chief to take his place at the podium.  The camera crew gave another nod, and Adam's stood tall and formidable, his raspy voice ringing out loud and clear like a cascading sheet of ice.

"Yesterday evening, a combined British raid on a militant group in northern Scotland attracted the attention of locals, who were awoken by sounds of gunfire."  he began, "The teams were met with heavy resistance, but received no casualties, and the militants were overrun.  This raid was conducted with the coordination of the British Defense Forces, who had requested assistance in removing the cell before it could gain any headway or ability to target local populations, or damage the country's infrastructure.  The militant group in question is an organized coalition of self-proclaimed nihilists, whose manifesto proclaims that society is inherently evil, and because life is hard, they believe it is their ironclad duty to ruin it for everyone else.  Our partners in the-"

Adam continued his address, while several feet away, Craw watched through the open door, still wearing his balaclava.  Deciding he had heard enough, he walked several steps along the hallway to a jug of water, where he picked up a little paper cup, and began to fill it.  Footsteps behind him caused his ears to prick up, and Craw straightened, lifting the lower fabric of his balaclava to tilt the cup into his mouth.

"He is strange,"  said a deep voice in Russian, "he deceives so well, that even when he lies, he is still telling the truth."

"And yet,"  Craw replied in the same language, as he turned around to face a middle aged snowy leopard, who bore a hardened and youthful physique, with a weary and handsome face.  "we speak Russian now...in this place."

"Not everything is a conspiracy."  the snowy leopard replied, "It is much less like puppet masters pulling strings, and more like stumbling naked through the dark on roller skates."

"We made it this far."  Craw smiled, "Adam knows who you are.  Madeline knows who you are.  His mother knows who you are, and that's how it was supposed to be.  When his true father rescued him, he knew who I was, but could not find me.  I escaped the only way I could, by shedding one layer of my entire body."

"He still has no idea that he does not actually have Archer's disease, though."  the snowy leopard replied, "It's not the first time he's been lied to.  Why so much of this has to rely on deception, I don't know.  I don't know Adam or Dola well.  All I know is that they know each other well, and Adam seems to have his head in the right place.  That's all I've really ever had to go on.  Maddie's never doubted him, and if she of all mammals doesn't, I'll trust her."

 "It was fucked up, though.  Our little guy made this complicated."  Craw said gravely, but with a morose smile, "First when they both fucked their little brains out.  Then when  _his_  brain was almost broken open because he fell off a fucking building on the other side of the world.  It ended the dream.  The protection you set in place for him all those years ago was undone.  He's got an heir to his fucked up condition that he has no idea is breathing arctic air, and wondering why he never knew his daddy.   Now, their fate is inevitable, and it is only a matter of time before Dola knows.  So many of them failed, and now he seems to walk right into Dola's arms."

"Well,"  the snowy leopard replied with a wry grin, "it's all just dust in the wind, isn't it?  None of this was meant to last.  We were lucky to get him the life that he has."  He toyed with a stray fiber on the wrist cuff of his somewhat wrinkled plaid shirt for a second, before perking his ears up to listen to Adam conclude his speech.

"Doesn't it bother you?"  Craw continued, drawing his balaclava back down as the camera crew exited the room, casting bewildered glances at him and the snowy leopard, who looked like he had hastily showered and dressed himself in whatever he could find that was presentable, "There was a riot tonight in the chief's city, and Adam took him away from it and brought him  _here_.  Allen and his boys find and swipe the canisters containing  _Ramiel's blood_  right out of Dola's home turf, and Dola just  _lets_ them.  His pet is sighted at a rest stop in Columbia county by  _Daniel Wilde_ , the guy he's  _after..._ and he keeps you and Madeline here, telling you both we're in a lull, and to go upstairs, lay low, and have sex.   _Why_  do you trust him?"

Karbanosk shrugged, downing the rest of his water, "The same reason as you:  He's Adam.  And we don't have a choice, really."  Depositing the paper cup in the wastebasket next to the water jug, he coughed gently.  "Get yourself a girl like Maddie, Craw." he continued with a dry smile, "She's not looking for a ring, but she's loyal to the death... _and_ she'll let you in the backdoor." He placed added emphasis on the last statement before turned and made his way back up the hall, leaving Craw with Adam and Bogo, who took Karbanosk's place at the water jug.  

"Your James Bond is just taking a water break."  Craw said with a hint of dry humor, "He has to go back upstairs to visit anal point, apparently."

"Good for him,"  Adam rasped with his characteristic wry grin as he adjusted his suit jacket, "We're actually going to a point ourselves, Craw.  Chief and I need to make sure all is well up there."

Bogo pointed at Adam's turned as he spoke to his bodyguards, clearly mouthing out the words to Craw:  _I think I know_ _why I'm here now._

 

 

 

Allen's calloused fingers trembled as he turned the cold steel knobs, sending shivers running up his wrists, and all the way to his ears.  The pipes screamed uncharacteristically loud for such a new and well kept building, sending a circular line of frigid little water jets down onto his exposed shoulder.  The sudden onslaught of cold made Allen jump, cursing quietly as he retracted his arm.  Standing up, he caught sight of himself in the expansive hotel mirror. 

Numerous bruises and scars dotted Allen's physique, including one divot on the inside his left thigh that looked as if a chunk of flesh had been scooped out with a spoon.  This scar had been a particularly fond butt of countless jokes and locker room humor, and Allen had been all too willing to indulge in them.  The source of the humor mostly stemmed from it being the result of a botched stabbing, the intended target having been his testicles.  After a lust-filled evening in his apartment, the then-nineteen year old Allen had been startled awake by the sight of the girl he had just had sex with only an hour ago straddling his legs and brandishing a kitchen knife over his privates.  Allen survived the ensuing struggle, but had spent the next few weeks taking iron supplements, the knife having only narrowly missed his femoral artery in the attempted castration.

Nowadays, Allen was surprised his wedding tackle was even still functioning, given the abuse it had been subjected to over the years.  Female company was difficult for him to come by due to his own high standards and the hectic nature of his work, but occasionally he was able to see the only female who seemed to reciprocate any affection towards him.  She would stimulate him long enough to make him almost beg, then hold off on any further action or questions.  Most nights, Allen was left to release his pent-up stress the easy way.

Sex was a matter he had been exposed to and engaged in far too early in life, and had grown up surrounded by it.  As a result of so many negative experiences and environments involving sex, Allen had been resolutely selective in his mating standards since leaving his hometown.  While other young Marines around him would settle for any barfly willing to strip for them, Allen never wavered in his commitment to wait for a female with a sense of responsibility and an education.  When Finnick became his roomate, he was able to find solidarity in their mutual revulsion of bars and strip clubs.  Because of his patience, most of their weekend nights ended uneventfully, with Allen relieving the pressure quietly in the bathroom while Finnick tried to tune out the sound before taking his turn.

 _Let's burn it, Al!_  the voice of the cheerleader in the mist floated across Allen's mind as he opened the curtain,  _Let's burn it ALL, and I'll let you DO me!_

The heated water soothed Allen's aching quadriceps, which had been severely strained and possibly pulled during his scramble up and down the hill the night before.  In the past twelve hours, he had put the operation in the back of his head, keeping it neatly tucked where it would not bother him while he recharged, and where he could preserve it when it was time to use it again.  His teammates had all done the same, with their part in the play finished for a little while.  Embassies did not usually like having to accommodate fifty grimy, strung-out pipehitters bunking with them, so they deferred the responsibility over to an exceedingly more upscale nearby hotel with a government contract, where they could make a more containable mess while they waited for their next assignment.

After showering, Allen spent an extra five minutes crouching on the bathroom floor, pulling out thorns that had been deeply embedded into his skin, mainly on his wrists, face, and buttocks.  Wincing from the continual application of tweezers, he held a bloody kleenex to his rump as he staggered back out into his room, where he had a spectacular view of the London skyline.  The glowing wheel of light was situated square in his window against the remnants of a recently departed sun.  Throughout his career, he had been to every continent on earth minus Europe.  London had been a sort of long-held fantasy for him since childhood, when he scarcely knew anything about the world beyond his dirt-poor, crime-ridden, southeast Missouri hick town.  He only wished he could have been here on more pleasant business, with more time.

Thirty minutes later, he was fully dressed in jeans, a vest, and a leather jacket, and feverishly downing coffee in an underground parking garage.  Next to him, Damien Kleating was swaying on his boots gently, having nodded off where he stood.  Stan's gentle flick on the ear brought him back to life, and Damien compensated for his momentary unconsciousness by abruptly taking too heavy a sip of his coffee, spilling some of it around the corners of his muzzle.  Several feet away, two of their British counterparts stood on either side of a inconspicuous backpack, which Allen knew was anything but.  It contained the whole reason they were here, and why they could trust no one else outside this room.    

 

 

 

They loaded up into a convoy of armored SUV's, and soon Allen was whizzing through the incomprehensible maze of artificial light, staring out at London metropolis with a sense of unease.  The dazzling beauty of the ancient city at night was marked by a strange bio-physiological instinct that nagged at Allen's brain.  When he had stepped out of the hotel to take the short walk to the embassy, there was a sort of static electricity in the air, like potential energy.  Next to him, Damien's ears were pricked up so acutely that they seemed to vibrate, and when they went over a pothole, he jumped, his fur standing on end.  In the driver's seat, Alonzo's breathing was relaxed and measured, possibly as an unintended, yet positive consequence of the pressure he was under.  They were leading the convoy, which meant that if anything happened to Alonzo, or they were to slow down in the event of an attack, everyone behind them could be killed.  From Allen, there was nothing but trust.  Alonzo had voluntarily taken on this role so often before, and had never failed.  

They weaved and bounced their way for several more minutes before the bridge came into view.  Allen's eyes scanned the rippling surface of the Thames, where something had just submerged itself.  Before he could alert anyone about it, Alonzo suddenly slowed down nearly to a crawl.  At the center of the bridge, the smoking wreckage of a flatbed that had crashed headlong into the barricades blocked their progress.  It's driver, a wiry jackal, who smiled back smugly directly at Alonzo.  

"What the fuck...?"  Kaliroy murmured from the front passenger seat, his finger slipping into the trigger well of his rifle.  

"Any room around him?"  Stan's voice crackled through Allen's earpiece.

"None."  Alonzo replied, "He's just sitting there and smiling.  He's a tail."

"Weapons free, then."  A British voice said, "All of you, start backtracking to the next route."  

Before Alonzo, or driver in the convoy could react, a series of shouts reached Allen's ears, and he spun around in his seat, looking out the rear windshield.  Unable to see far due to the next vehicle blocking most of his view, he was able to see pedestrians and tourists running at a full sprint, fleeing an unseen something further back up the street.  London metro police officers in yellow coats with checkered reflectors were sprinting behind the pedestrians, shouting at the top of their lung.  Despite being a quarter mile away, their voices carried through the street all the way to Allen's ears.

"KEEP MOVING!"

"GO! GO! GO!"  

"RUN! KEEP FUCKING RUNNING!"

As pandemonium built on the street behind them, Allen's pulse quickened.  In the little bit of space he had in the rear view mirror, he could see dark-clad figures pursuing the officers and pedestrians, running with an alarmingly aggressive gait.  

"What's going on back there?"  Alonzo inquired into his mouthpiece, concern mounting.  

"Stay in the vehicles for now."  The British voice replied calmly, "There's mammals with knives approaching from behind.  If anything happens, we'll-"  Their British counterpart paused, his voice lingering on his last unfinished order.  The static remained, and Allen realized that he was still keyed in.

"Get out of the vehicles."  He said, more urgently this time, "Unidentified vehicle headed towards Monument Station.  Front, take care of the fuckup.  Weapons free.  I say again, weapons free."

Allen's heart skipped a beat.  Pulling his neck gaiter up to cover his identity, he threw his door open, he clambered out onto the bridge, flicking his safety off as he went.  The subtle static electricity that had nagged at his senses earlier now made his fur stand stiffly on end, crackling through time and space like Satan's laughter.  

They approached the flatbed, appearing robotic and unfeeling with their faces completely covered.  The smirking driver slowly exited the smoking cabin, followed by, to Allen's horror, three more like him.

 _"Na tvoyem litse!"_   Kaliroy shouted at the smirking driver, _"Ne trakhaytes'!  Vernites' v mashinu, ublyudok!"_

 _"Ogo, net, net, net!"_ Allen said, training his sights on one of the passengers' chests, who dangled an MP5 to his thigh,  _"V mire, v mire ..."_

The driver looked torn between rage and fear, practically trembling with fanatical hatred with his eyes fixed on something further back up the street.  Clearly understanding the orders, he took a darting step towards Damien, who tightened his grip on his own rifle, and shook his masked head in warning.  _"_ _Vy khotite umeret'?"_

The driver took the bait, and with one flick of his wrist, his life ended.  Allen, Kaliroy, and Damien spat five bullets each into the truck's occupants, Allen finishing the fourth.  As soon as the echoing thunder from their suppressed weapons diminished, more erupted from the rear of their convoy.  Turning around, he saw that the street they had just driven through was covered in bodies.  Every door on every SUV was open, and the entire convoy was dismounted, firing at dark-clad figures who left a trail of blood and death in their wake.

 

 

 

Stan and the Jaguar sprinted past yellow-coated police officers, running back the way he came.  Screaming tourists desperately tried to duck into the buildings on either side of them, diving into restaurants and taverns to escape the dozens of hooded figures who ran through everyone they saw.  Some of them stopped to try and wrench open the doors to business that were hiding their intended victims, pounding on the glass and brandishing large knives.  Spotting one, Stan fired twice, dropping him where he stood.  Another was too involved in his pursuit of victims to notice that Stan was armed and not running from him.  With a fanatical shout, he hurtled forward only to be met with four bullets to his chest and forehead, two fired by Stan, and two more fired by the Jaguar.  Several of them managed to get close enough to the Jaguar to stab him, and were quickly thrown so hard into the pavement that one of the attacker's heads had smacked into the pavement with a sound like a gunshot, where he convulsed briefly before lying still.  His eyes alight with savage pleasure, the Jaguar brandished his own K-bar, and roared like an unhinged monster as he burst forth to plunge it into the attackers' chests'.  The one that remained tried to flee, but was decapitated in full view of the dozens of horrified onlookers hiding behind the glass windowpane of a cafe.  

"Clear a path for them!"  The Jaguar shouted, "We're J-turning to the next route!"  

More gunfire erupted, this time coming from the MP5's of London's Armed Police Units in an attempt to box in the remaining attackers.  Stan and the Jaguar continued their progress forward, while the SUV's on the bridge behind them slowly made their way backwards, hoping to create enough space to turn around.  Shouts rang out from the distant Monument Station, and Stan saw the Armed Police units rushing towards them, weapons raised.  

The British commander ran up alongside them, holding out his paw to the Armed units.   "NO!"  he shouted, "ARMY!"

The nearest police officer's eyes registered understanding, and he lowered his rifle as he and his unit slowed to a halt.  Recognition lit up in his eyes when he took in Stan, the Jaguar, and the British Commander's appearances, with their balaclavas, light body armor, and civilian clothes.  Nodding, he and his fellow officers scanned the now empty street, which was dotted with bodies every several feet.

"We need space to turn around!"  The British commander said, "Clear any bodies out of the way!"

A twenty-five year old coyote James Nile found himself crammed into the corner of the famous cafe, with he and his three fellow veterans forced against the wall by the tide of panicking tourists.  After six years active duty service in the Royal Marines, James was no stranger to stress.  Here, the main source of his stress had less to do with the mammals racing up the street and brandishing knives, and more to do with the way he was rendered useless and unable to help anyone, simply due to the cramped quarters he and his friends had unwittingly placed themselves in.  All around them, pandemonium reigned. 

Sirens screamed in the distance, filling the skyline over the Thames with a bizarre light show.  From inside the buildings that lined the street, panicked would-be victims slowly gathered around the glass panes, staring in terrified bewilderment as dozens of masked police officers materialized out of nowhere, hauling bodies towards the sidewalks, leaving trails of dark liquid on the pavement.  Most strange and unsettling, was the presence of three burly, also masked figures in street clothes, who seemed to be calling the shots.  James inadvertently met eyes with one, and chills went down his spine.  Eyes icier than ocean spray in the north sea bored into his soul for a split second, before directing their attention to a convoy of black SUV's that moved rapidly backwards in unison, until the entire line suddenly spun around in one synchronized action.  The three that had dismounted piled into one of the SUV's, and as suddenly as they had appeared, they vanished into London, leaving dozens of armed police officers and bodies in their wake. 

As if on cue, ambulances took the place of the SUV's, streaking into the street as officers screamed orders to the occupants of the nearby buildings.

_Stay where you are!  We will search you one at a time! Single file line!_

From his vantage point, which was made particularly good for viewing the events even if he could not do anything about them, James scanned what he could see of the bridge to his left.  The smoking wreck of a flatbed truck sat directly in the middle of the left lanes, blocking any traffic that would cross it in that direction.  A few more bodies lay in heaps beside it.  Just as his breath was beginning to fog the glass, a movement caught his eye on the rooftop directly across the street from him.  Before he could register it, headlights suddenly burst forth from the other side of the bridge.  With a earth-shaking thunderclap, the flatbed was pushed aside by the hulking mass of a semi that hurtled towards them at an uncontrolled, terminal speed.  Officers shouted and opened fire at the windshield and engine block as they ran for cover, but the enormous machine began to sway nauseatingly, like some kind of demented rattlesnake.  

Something inexplicable, like a prey animal sensing the presence of an unseen predator, brought James's attention back to the window directly across from him, and his heart stopped cold.  Panicked, curious tourists scrambled like mad to get away from the windows, but among them one figure stood still as the grave, mammals pushing past it as if he were a statue.  For a moment, James could not hear the screams, or feel his friends grabbing him and hauling him away from the widow.  He could not wrench his gaze away from the faceless, yet smoldering eyes of something that seemed neither dead nor alive.  As the ground trembled, and the Semi began to fishtail, James could have sworn he saw the figure wave goodbye.

 

 

 

Finnick's breath stung on his lips as he struggled to retrace his steps.  He was completely lost, having run for hours, chasing some kind of impossibly fast and agile apparition of his daughter.  Details were floating in and out of his mind as he scanned his surroundings, trying to spot something familiar.  He stood on the corner beneath an underpass that ran through a suburban field covered in what seemed like a cloud of dragonflies, all flitting over what little grass poked through the snow.  He was impossibly far away from downtown.  This was so far out in the surrounding communities that he would have had to run forty miles or more, and that was simply not feasible given how dark it was still.  Nick and Judy had woken him up at three-ten, and he had been out here long enough for daylight to break.  

Something was wrong, and Nick and Judy had been called into work for it, but Finnick could not for the life of him remember what, or what he had been doing before he ran out of the apartment.  He could not even remember when he had fallen asleep, or why he had been in Nick and Judy's bed.  His memory was a soup of foggy inklings of the last few hours and the day before, but only a few fragile visions floated to the surface.  He had been in the hospital...what for?  He had passed out as he dried off after a shower, and Judy had been there.  His mom's voice kept on turning up, saying things that he could not recall where from, directed at someone new.

  
"Daddy, I'm cold!"

Lucy stood several feet beneath the graffitied overpass, bobbing on her heels in anticipation for her father to catch up.  The little sneakers she wore had no stains or scuffs on them despite their heavy use over the past few hours or so.  Her headfur seemed unnaturally silky and combed for someone who had been running through the snow for hours.  Finnick blinked and ran to her, more confused than anything at the moment.

"Why didn't you put on a jacket?"  Finnick asked, pulling her into a warm embrace, "You're still dressed like you got out of bed."

"I just woke up."  Lucy replied nonchalantly, "I knew where to find you, and running makes you warm."

"Yeah, but..."  Finnick said, standing up straight and taking her by the paw, "A jacket will make you warmer.  Let's head back, now.  Grandma and Aunt Katie are waiting for us."

Lucy nodded her head and swung Finnick's arm playfully, "Ok.  Look at all the words!"  With her free paw, she pointed at the graffiti that covered the concrete walls of the overpass, which stretched unusually far across, almost like a tunnel while the lights inside gave the space a deceptively warm glow.  Finnick scanned the walls suspiciously, not wanting his daughter start repeating whatever she was able to read here in kindergarten.  To his surprise, the legible bits and pieces of it all were well worded and articulate sentences.  Frowning, he mouthed one out loud.

 _"Speak the truth, and see what happens."_   Finnick whispered, reading the text that was written in thick blue and yellow, seemingly three dimensional letters.  "Hm."  He murmured, contemplating it momentarily before redirecting his thoughts on returning to the apartment.  "Alright, Lucy.  Lets get you back to bed."

Lifting her onto his hip, Finnick began to make his way back up the road, towards the suburbs and away from the underpass.  Elena should be home from work by now, and would no doubt be texting him nervously, wondering if they were just late coming home, or going for a walk.  

"Daddy, there's my friend!"

Finnick turned his head in the direction of Lucy's finger, where in the moonlit field twenty feet away, a familiar hooded figure stood silent as the grave.  Strangely not feeling any alarm or trepidation, Finnick studied the figure curiously, who silently walked through the grass towards them.  "I've seen him before...who is he?"

"He's nice."  Lucy replied, waving at the figure.  "He shows you the way home when you're lost.  He found me and mom once after I fell asleep in the car, and we  _flew!"_

Finnick watched the figure step out of the snow, and onto the road, which turned and stood facing them.  One clawed paw gripped a staff of sorts, like a walking stick.  No muzzle was visible beneath his hood, but there were two glowing eyes that Finnick could not determine whether they were reassuring or terrifying.  A dragonfly rested on his shoulder like a companion. 

With subtle brush of his free paw, he waved back at Lucy, his glowing eyes betraying recognition.  Finnick nodded at him, feeling at ease.  The figure nodded back, then beckoned them to follow.

As they walked along the empty highway,lined with tall industrial streetlights, a thought struck Finnick.  He ventured a question, curious to hear the figure speak.  "Who  _are_ you?"  He inquired politely, not wanting to come across ungrateful.  The figure stopped walking, and bowed his head momentarily.  Slowly turning back around, he reached one gloved paw up and lowered his hood.  Finnick's eyes widened in surprise.

"...Ramiel?"  he whispered.  Lucy giggled out loud at her father's shock.  Ramiel did not nod or shake his head, but acknowledgement glowed in his eyes.  "Lucy goes with your father now."  he whispered, his voice like snow on the wind.

Behind Ramiel, Julian appeared, wearing his usual leather jacket and jeans.  He seemed content, and unaffected by the cold, smiling warmly at his son.  Lucy quickly squeezed Finnick in a simple farewell, and hopped out his arms onto the pavement, where she skipped past Ramiel and into Julian's waiting paw as nonchalantly if she were being dropped off at school.  Turning around, she waved goodbye to Finnick, who waved back reluctantly, sighing.  

"I'll see her again soon?"  He asked Ramiel, as darkness began to swallow the scene.  Again, Ramiel betrayed no emotion.  "Soon."  he replied, "You will be with them soon."

The last thing Finnick saw were Ramiel's glowing eyes as he and the streetlights on the road to nowhere dissolved.


	16. The Flood

The phone never rang before Finnick's voicemail answered, and Judy's heart dropped.  His phone had been connected to its charger, she thought, it should not be dead.  Voice shaking slightly, she began speaking when the voicemail tone rang.  

"Hi, Fin...I'm just checking on you."  she said casually, "Nick and I are fine, we're just making sure everything is okay, and that your Mom, Katy, and Stuart got there.  When you can, give me or Nick a call back.  Just let us know you're okay."  

Judy glanced back at Nick, who was watching anxiously with Lupek, who bore a look of calm concern.  Dialing Erica's number, she put the phone to her ear again.  The phone rang twice before Erica answered, but Judy did not breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

"Hey,"  she said, trying to sound unafraid, "we just tried to call Fin's phone, and it went straight to voicemail.  Are you there yet?  We just don't remember his phone being unplugged..."

"Oh, not to worry, darling."  Erica replied, "Katy and I are walking up the steps right now."  

Judy faintly heard the sound of keys jingling and a door swinging open.  When Erica spoke again, it was not the reassuring confirmation that Judy was hoping for.

"Judy..." Erica said her tone serious and calm, yet tinged with alarm.  "He's not here."

Overhearing his mother's news, Nick reached up to his brow, and ran his fingers down his face, forcing down the terrible impulse to panic.  This could not be happening.  Lupek glanced back and forth from Judy to Nick and back, realization becoming more and more apparent on his features.  

"What...?"  Judy breathed, "Was the door locked?  Are you sure he's not hiding some-"

"He's not here."  Erica replied grimly.  "The door was locked.  His phone, keys, wallet, jacket, and knife are all gone too.  And his dresser drawer is open.  He put on jeans, socks and shoes before leaving."  

"Okay...okay..."  Judy muttered, searching her mind for the next step, "Any sign of a break-in?  And where's Stuart?" 

"None that we can see."  Erica answered, "And Stuart hasn't responded to my text.   I don't know wha-"  She paused, and Judy heard Katy gasp out loud.  "Judy..."  Erica said slowly, "there's someone lying still in the parking lot.  On their back."

"How far away?"  Judy pressed, putting the phone on speaker so that Nick and Lupek could hear.  

"About a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty feet."  Erica said, the edge to her tone increasing as she spoke, "Something tells me we shouldn't go out there until...someone on your end gets here first."

"This is Lt. Gregory Lupek, ZBI."  Lupek said, making his presence known.  "We're sending a unit now.  Myself, your son, and Judy will be heading there as well."

"Thank you."  Erica replied, her tone now increasingly worried.  "Please hurry.  Something is very wrong here.  Stay on the line if you can."

"We will."  Lupek replied.  "We'll stay with you."  Turning to his team, which had just been dismissed by Chief Markin, he waved them over.  With a twinge of mixed awe and intimidation, Judy could not help but notice how nearly all of them had thighs that were larger than she was.  Once he was satisfied they were all in earshot, Lupek relayed the new plan to them.

"Change of plans."  He said, addressing mainly the masked individual who appeared to be his immediate subordinate, "The fennec that you heard about a few minutes ago is being reported missing from his apartment.  Gold team, we're heading there now to meet with the fennec's mother and a couple of family friends.  I'll update Chief Markin."

The team nodded, and dispersed, but the individual he had been addressing in particular remained for a moment.  Through the eye slit of his balaclava, Nick realized that one of his irises was milky white.  

"It's opening."  He said, in a shockingly innocuous voice, tinged with seriousness.  _"I vrochí péftei."_ To Nick's confusion, Lupek nodded, his expression grave.  Without another word, the masked team member followed his colleagues.  Turning back to Nick and Judy, Lupek gestured for them to follow.  Still holding Lucy's ribbon tightly in one paw, Nick followed him and Judy towards the back of the warehouse, where a pair of double doors opened up to reveal several armored SUV's.  Opening the rear left door of the nearest one, Lupek indicated for them to get in, before getting in the shotgun seat himself.  The masked mammal took his place at the driver's seat.  In the back, Nick and Judy found themselves wedged between two others, their small stature hardly making any difference in the confined space.  In a moment of deja vu,  Nick recalled an exact same configuration only a couple of years ago, when he and Judy were wedged between two polar bears, on their way to meet a tiny mobster.

"We're on our way, now."  Judy said into her phone to Erica, "Hang in there."

As they followed the lead vehicles out of the garage, Lupke spoke up again."  Tell me about your brother, Wilde."  He said, regarding Nick with a look that revealed only honest curiosity, "What was his relationship with Elena like?"

"So,"  Lupek ventured, drawing Nick's attention, "your little brother...what was his relationship with Elena like?"

"Much better than Fin believes."  Nick replied, still startled by the familiarity of the red wolf's appearance, "If you asked him, he'd tell you he was the worst husband and father that the world had ever seen, and that he was an unfeeling piece of shit, but that's mostly just the guilt and depression talking.  Elena didn't exactly understand how much strain Fin's job was going to put on their time together, and how much he was going to be gone, and she did kind of take it out on him.  She kind of underestimated what it was going to be like.  That's not saying Fin was perfect.  He did probably lose opportunities to be with them when he could have, but he was nowhere near as bad as he would have you believe."

Lupek nodded understandingly, wiping a droplet of sweat off his neck, "That, and he was probably dealing with what every warfighter has to.  Coming home from a combat deployment and learning to cope, right?"

"To say the least,"  Nick replied, nodding back, "It wasn't anything he said or did, but I really noticed it in 2012, after his third rotation.  It was in his eyes.  Something was off.  I distinctly remember overhearing Elena say to him  _you brought the monster home with you._ After that, Fin was a little...on edge.  Never around Elena or Lucy, but in little moments here and there.  He couldn't sleep well for years.  Elena once told me in private that he had started trembling and thrashing so violently in his sleep, that she became scared to sleep with him.  She also said she would have nightmares, too.  Real vivid ones..."

Nick paused, a faint strand of memory stirring in his exhausted brain.  "She said she would dream..." Nick continued, causing Lupek's brow to narrow in curiosity, sensing that Nick was remembering something vital.  Nick considered the conversation he had with Judy the previous night about Finnick's tattoo.  Then the words he overheard Finnick describe to their father many years ago.  Then the images of dragonflies flicked across his mind's eye like a slideshow, displaying each and every instance when one had stared at him as if it could hear him.

"She would dream about dragonflies."  Nick said slowly, "And shadowy figures following her."  He glanced back up at Lupek, who to his surprise, bore a look of recognition. 

"And did your brother also have these dreams at some point in his past?"  he inquired, tilting his head.  Nick nodded in reply.  "And has he ever described encountering a figure...or felt like he was being followed by something?"

"Yes."  Nick answered, taken aback, "A couple of weeks ago, we were driving back from visiting family for the holidays, when we stopped at a rest area in Columbia County.  Fin didn't tell me till the next morning, but he said he believed there was someone in the male's room with him, even though it was clearly empty."

"As we were leaving,"  Judy added, deciding she ought to provide some input, "he said a silhouetted figure was watching us leave.  We asked a close family friend working directly for President Solomon to run an investigation on the rest area.  He said the results were ready, but never sent them.  He's dropped off the face of the earth."  

"I see."  Lupek replied, studying Nick far more intently than he felt was necessary, "And was he a Raccoon named Allen Esmond?  Kinda mean-looking guy?  All scarred up with a package too big for the rest of his body?" 

Judy blinked, remembering that she was speaking to mammals who worked in the same career field as Allen.  "That's him,"  she replied, "do you know where he is?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  Lupek replied.  Judy could have sworn he winked.  

 

 

 

The eerie hum of fluorescent lights made Bogo's fur stand on end as he followed his commander in chief through a maze of bookshelves.  In this underground warehouse, beneath the feet and wheels of millions, were countless different things that were not for anyone's eyes but a select few.  Bogo had been apprehensive about entering the structure, feeling as though he were about to enter the cave of wonders from  _Aladdin_.  He had heard rumors about it, and knew it was the sort of thing that conspiracy theorists liked to tout as proof that there was some kind of upside-down, super-secret, evil master plan at work in their country.  The place was real enough, and secure enough to be hidden from the public eye, but Bogo had quickly found out what he had always suspected;  Not quite the vault of a puppet master's devilry, it seemed more like a big, catch-all closet or storage unit, to house various objects and information that had been accumulated throughout history, and the upper echelons of government had not known what to do with.

"See those carpets?"  Adam said suddenly, pointing at a stack of ancient, rolled up rugs leaning on the wall, "In 1829, Andrew Jackson paid a goddamn fortune for those to roll out at his inaugural ball."

"Why are they down here, and not a few blocks away in the Smithsonian?"  Bogo asked quizzically, for a moment genuinely interested in the history of this building.  Adam smirked over his shoulder.  

"By morning," he replied with a hint of a laugh,  "the rugs were so covered in vomit and piss, that they could not clean the smell out.  They were so expensive, though, that Jackson didn't want to throw them away, so he had them tossed in the old basement until some guys doing renovations in the 40's found them, still intact.  The smell was still there, just much fainter."

Bogo's silence spurred Adam to fill in the room for conversation as they walked through the giant vault, which was the size of a Walmart.  "Andrew Jackson was such a character."  he rasped, "Who knows just  _what_ kind of fuckery he got up to.  He even nearly  _beat a guy_ _to death_ , once.  The guy tried to shoot Jackson, and Jackson beat the royal snot out of him with the gun meant to kill him.  Had to be pulled back by his own bodyguards."

"That's interesting," Bogo replied, eyeing the labels on the sides of the bookshelves they were passing.  "For as much as everyone wonders what goes on behind the curtain, it's really not all that exciting."

"Yep."  Adam replied as they turned a corner, and he stopped by a long, steel table between two shelves stacked to the beams with locked metal drawers, "they like to think there's a plan."

 _I'd like to think there's a plan._ Bogo thought, folding his arms as Adam began browsing the drawers, his ears twitching.  A short silence followed, and the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to spur Bogo into action.  "Why am I here?"  He inquired for the second time that night.  Adam turned to him, flashing a smile that Bogo could not read.  

"Why do you think you're here?"

"I think," Bogo said, masking his impatience, "that it's four in the morning, you might be stalling for time, and that there's some really good goddamn reason for you bringing me here, because I trust you."

Adam raised his eyebrows, in a movement that Bogo could not determine if it was amusement, or if he was impressed by the answer.  "Well, I appreciate you trusting me."  he replied, "I'm not sure if  _I_ would have trusted me.  It is four in the morning, and I have been stalling for time.  There actually is also a really good goddamn reason I brought you here, too.  There's something you need to see for yourself.  How familiar are you with the story of Ramiel?"  

"I don't know much about it."  Bogo replied, "I'm not a fox, so I only know he's a folk hero to them."  

Adam nodded "Have you heard of the Possession Experiments?"  Bogo shook his head in reply.  Before continuing, Adam turned back to the row of lockers.  Pulling one open, he seemed to contemplate the contents for a moment longer.  Bogo frowned, feeling like he was being led on.

"One of the many diabolical experiments carried out by the Soviets on the inhabitants of the Gulag stemmed from the curiosity of their intellectuals about demonic possessions."  Adam explained, reaching into the box, and pulling out a little steel canister.  "It involved inducing a sort of possession-like state in their victims.  They were in a way, attempting to see into the past...by forcing the memories of another onto the subject.  They had not yet figured out what it was, but with the DNA and DMT of anyone they could extract it from, and over-stimulating the hypothalamus, they believed they could make one mammal become another.  Anyone.  Alive..."

A sudden wave of nausea gripped Bogo, then heightened sexual ecstacy.  His hooves were suddenly cold, surrounded by a layer of what felt like snow.  Then he was sitting on a grassy hill overlooking Mueller park, with the gorgeous skyline of Zootopia set against the backdrop of a blood orange, setting sun.  His newly adopted son, a fennec, was tumbling down the hill, giggling as he tried to keep up with his older brother, and his best friend.  Erica sat next to him, casually running her tail over his muzzle as he lay back on the grass, letting the tension, excitement, and stress of the last few months spent on the other side of the world drift away into the gathering night.  When the first firework snapped, it also snapped inside his head.  Dazed and disoriented, Bogo fell forward onto the table, holding out his hooves for support.  

Adam stood calmly across the table, holding the open canister, and Bogo's water bottle in the other.  "...Or dead."  

Narrowing his eyes, Bogo read the printed label on the canister with a sharp jolt of recognition.  

**Julian Noah Wilde**

**Red Fox**

**Master Sergeant, 1st SFOD, Z.S. Army Special Operations Command, 1995-2004**

**ZSMC Force Reconnaissance, 1985-1995.**

**Savannah Central State College 1982-1985**

**Savannah Central High School 1977-1981**

**Survived By: Erica Suzette Wilde, Nicholas Tiberius Wilde, Daniel David Wilde.**

**Blood Type O**

**NETWORKS UNIDENTIFIABLE**

 

"No, no, no, no..."  Bogo gasped, shaking his head in disbelief as he straightened back up.  "That's not...that didn't just..."

"It's exactly what you hope it's not."  Adam answered, "You were just possessed by Julian Wilde, Daniel's adoptive father.  But here's the good news.  The memories you experienced manifest at random, and are not controlled by anything.  They are just memories from Julian Wilde's life, and that's it.  The bad news is that someone knows how to control them.  Imagine what that means.  They can set the conditions for a mammal to experience not just memories, but the imaginations of the deceased.  They can identify the specific networks that can call forth the mind's eye of the dead.  They can open them up to the darkest, most horrible thoughts that enter a mammal's mind.  If you picked the right neurons from the hippocampus, you could make someone kill themselves.  The collective memories, thoughts, and entire psyche of a mammal...in one simple solution.  You could call it a soul."

Bogo simply gaped at his president, the leader of the free world.  "How?"  he half-whispered, still not believing it.  "That's insane." 

Adam casually resumed his browsing of the shelf as he replied.  "When mammals receive heart transplants,"  he said, "they often find themselves teeming with memories that are not theirs, and that is because memories and thoughts are a physical occurrence.  They are synapses that have to be maintained.  Thoughts have mass, and weight.  During the twilight years of the Cold War, a rumor reached our ears that the Soviets had figured out a way to remotely control mammals.  They had no idea what they were actually looking at though.  Much of modern medicine was discovered by accident as well."

Adam paused at another box, and pulled it off the shelf.  "Dimethyltryptamine is so funny."  he rasped, almost laughing.  "Supposedly it was the "redemptive substance" that was encased in the Ark of the Covenant.  It lets you talk to  _Gods_ , Chief Bogo.   _Gods._ "

Bogo's heart sank when Adam produced another canister.  Seeing his apprehension, Adam flashed him a reassuring look.  "You won't be experiencing this guy's memories, Chief.  Not where you can hurt anyone."  On the canister, Bogo saw another familiar name.  It was the otter who had committed suicide only days ago.  

**Jared Tony Bullock**

**European River Otter**

**1992-2018**

**Commercial Underwater Welder, Jamie Al Underwater Solutions INC.  2015-2018**

**Petty Officer 3rd Class, Z.S. Navy Seabee, 2011-2015**

**Marler High School, Marler, Florida, 2006-2010, Swim Team Captain**

**Blood Type A-**

**Survived By-Terence Aaron Bullock, Jonathan Darren Bullock, Jesse Brianna Bullock, Brooke Amelia Waldon**

**NETWORKS UNIDENTIFIABLE**  

"Your officers didn't want to go back in that building, did they?"   Adam rasped, standing over Bogo almost like an interrogator, "They didn't want to believe they had seen a mammal nearly eat his own arm off to keep an unseen force from making him cut his own throat...or a Dragonfly speak to him."

Bogo's mind went back to his brief conversation with Higgins and Delgado, who had been virtually catatonic after exiting the building, and only offering a short explanation of their reasons to have nothing to do with the case.  _We're washing our paws of this._ Delgado had said with a hollow voice in response to Bogo's asking what he had seen.   _I don't know what that was.  I don't want to know.  I'm out."_ After several seconds silence, Bogo finally found his voice again.  "Why am I here?"  he demanded angrily, "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because you were marked too."  Adam responded simply, "Years ago.  The day you became Chief."

The shock on Bogo's face seemed to surpass his own personality, as if he had been caught in an embarrassing situation.  Not missing a beat, Adam continued, leaning forward on the table, a rare display of fatigue.  

"You were fed a bottle of water one evening by Assistant Mayor Bellwether.  Your blueprint was altered from that day forward, and tonight, you were slated to be possessed.  The riot that took place tonight in your city was a calling of the pied piper, to awaken the soul that lives inside Daniel Wilde...and yours.  But they fucked up.  It didn't work...yet.   Karbanosk and Anton's efforts were not in vain.  The forces that set this all in motion fell in love with their own creation.  There was never supposed to be more than one lord of the flies.  There never is.  And now the deed is done.  As long as you are here, in the electromagnetic field of this building, and Daniel is somewhere else, neither of you can be possessed.  The same memory lives in both of you, and acts as one, single entity.  Neither can act while the other is cut off."

"Who are the others?"  Bogo demanded again, starting to pace the room in a frantic state of anxiety.  "Karbanosk said there were others.  And why me?  Why bring me here tonight, and leave Daniel to die?  And who is _they?_ How did the riot in the city I'm absent from when I should be in my city dealing with it, wake up this...this... _thing?"_

Bogo's questions started coming at a more frenzied pace, the confusion and frustration over the bizarre situation beginning to crack his stoic shell.  He was sick of this whole charade.  He just wanted to get back home and deal with the shit in his own city, and to get a decent night's sleep with his wife.  Adam opened his mouth patiently to respond each time, but was cut off by another question.  

"Who the hell is that fennec lady?  And how does Karbanosk know her?  Who is Craw, and why does he never take off his mask?  And WHAT IS THAT FUCKING TATTOO ON DANIEL'S BACK?"

When the last words finally spilled from Bogo's mouth, he felt drained, and slightly embarrassed.  Adam's expression remained calm.  "Chief."  the Siberian tiger addressed him simply, "I don't blame you, and I prepared answers for this.  I only wish I could explain them to Daniel too, and that you didn't have to hear them this way.  If you can stay with me for a bit longer, I'll explain everything in full.  I just ask you to be patient.  If not, I don't blame you in the slightest, and I won't stop you."

Bogo's mouth opened as if to retort, but he quickly caught himself, and relented inside.  Adam was right.  If he wanted to hear the truth, he would have to listen to it.

"Ok."  He replied, finally, pulling up the only chair on his side of the table, and easing himself down onto it with a soft sigh.  "I'm sorry, Adam.  I'm just tired, and ready for this to be over.  I'll listen, but promise me I'll go home soon."

Adam smiled reassuringly, "You have my word, Chief.  I haven't let you down once in thirty-five years, have I?"

"Never,"  Bogo replied, allowing himself a rare smile, "I have a long memory too."

There was a brief silence between them, before Adam spoke first this time, addressing what he sensed would be Bogo's first question.  Deciding to start from the beginning, he settled himself in for a long process. 

"More than twenty years ago, Daniel met a little fennec girl on the playground at Mueller Park.  You know the place.  They became instant friends.  Daniel was infatuated with her, and they were inseparable.  As time went on, and they both moved to Warrenville, Missouri, they became aware of each other in perfectly natural ways.  That chance encounter would grow into an ubreakable friendship, that would in turn grow into a romantic encounter between two adolescent fennecs on the banks of a Midwestern lake...and that night of impulsive youth bore consequences that Daniel has no memory of.  Another mammal can never see his father, or leave an Arctic wasteland because of what he and that fennec girl did that night."

Adam paused, letting Bogo absorb the information before continuing.  

"You are here instead of him, because Daniel is never alone.  Where he goes, our enemy sees.  He has never been alone, and deep down, he knows it, and remembers it.  The tattoo on his back, the one you mentioned seeing at his brother's wedding, is not a tattoo.  It is why his life is an endgame, and why Karbanosk and Craw are here in this country at all."

"What do you mean?"  Bogo ventured, for what he felt like was the twelfth time that night. Cringing inwardly, he resolved to not repeat that question again unless need be.  Adam seemed not to have noticed, and allowed himself a benign, yet subtle smile.  

"Daniel got Madeline pregnant." he said, almost shrugging,  "The first summer after they moved to Warrenville."

 

 

 

"Did you really?  Atta boy!"  Madeline said with astonishment, speaking into her phone from the shotgun seat of Karbonosk's Chevy Tahoe, watching as the lights of four A.M. commuters streamed past as they drove steadily north through the gradually approaching dawn.  At the wheel, Karbonosk listened with a subtle smirk, not completely sure of what the conversation was about, but simply due to an overwhelming sense of gratitude and optimism that had been imbued into him by the tender, relentless onslaught of therapy that was Madeline.  

The past few hours had been a blur.  Drunk on the scent and heat of her, Karbonosk had finished far too quickly the first time, leaving her straddling naked atop him, red-cheeked with mock irritation as she felt him shudder and release inside her after only twenty seconds.  He had redeemed himself, however, by completing the process several more times over the course of the night.  

"So did you stick it yourself?"  Madeline said suddenly, snapping Karbonosk out of his reverie.  "Ew.  That's how it goes, boy.  Killing those things is no rose garden, playboy.  Get used to being covered in it."

A few seconds of muffled replies followed, and as the first indication of sunlight began to appear, Madeline giggled softly for several seconds.  

"No...really?  That's adorable.  Oh, stop it, you.  Don't sass me, Luke....I once watched you turn a cheerio into a dust orgy, that you promptly puked onto the rug.  Shark guts are nothing, Luke.   _Nothing_ compared to what you're capable of.  I'm still cleaning the stains out of your- _of course I can tell!_ You're fourteen!  You do it twice a day  _at least!_.  When I was your age, I...ok...ok...you don't need to know the details about  _my_ adolescence.  You're right.  I'm a  _lady,_ and we all know ladies don't do that.  Well, I've got news for you, Mr. Pubescent.  I  _still_ do it.  That's right!  When you've finally lost your virginity, we'll have something in common there."

As the conversation went on, Karbonosk's smirk grew slowly wider until he could no longer hold back the wave of laughter that was building up.  Madeline flashed him a playful frown, and sighed.  

"Alright, handsome,"  She said, "we're weirding out Karbonosk here.  Look, he's proud of you too.  We're all proud of you...Daddy's doing fine.  You'll see him soon.  I promised you that would happen one day, so don't give up hope.  Daddy will remember you when he sees you.  Ok.  I love you.  Call me tonight, ok?  M-okay...Love you...bye."

Madeline placed the phone back in her jean pocket, and adjusted herself in the leather seat with a soft sigh.  Still not satisfied, she shifted her hips a second time, then stretched her paws out in front of her, unintentionally inducing a wide yawn.  When she shifted her hips a third time, Karbonosk let out a soft half-laugh, flashing her a wry grin of amusement.  Madeline glared with mock reproach back at him, one paw thrust down the front of her jeans.  

"I told you to wear underwear."  Karbonosk chuckled as they turned off of the freeway.  Madeline flicked his ear in reply as she pulled her phone back out, and started to browse through a music playlist.

"I've never needed it."  She giggled.  "I like a breeze down there."

"Not even back home?"  Karbonosk asked with a tone of disbelief.  "Above the Arctic Circle?"

"Nope."  Madeline replied, giggling,  "Never."

She selected a track on her phone, and set it down in the center console.  Karbonosk's ears pricked up when he heard the melody, and he grinned when Madeline finally settled into her seat without shifting her hips around, and closed her eyes.  Glancing back at her again, Karbonosk could see her holster strap around her leg, the handle and the bottom of the loaded magazine inserted into it.  No matter how sweet, shameless, and comfortable in her own skin she got, Karbonosk could not help but marvel at how she never failed to remind him that she was ultimately in control, of herself and the world around her.  

The music Madeline had picked out made the hardened old snowy leopard smile even wider.  Just an eretheal guitar track that captured the east coast dawn perfectly.  As the first hint of approaching sunlight reached up over the suburban sprawl, Karbonosk realized inexplicably that the music, had in fact been recorded and played by Madeline.  Glancing at the screen, where the song title was displayed, it read:

**Finnick**

 

 

Finnick crept through the shin-deep water of another dimension, surrounded by an endless, black mist.  It could have been night here, but it almost seemed like he were in space, and just under that natural black backdrop that was the universe.  The water seemed to reflect the sky, and was vaguely even purple in hue.  It did not stick to his fur, and rolled off in droplets like water usually does, but Finnick could not feel it.  There was a forest around him, but he was scarcely aware of it.  The trees seemed to flit by faster than he himself was moving, their upper canopies out of sight in the inky universe above, and their trunks flying through space and time as if he were driving by them.  The streetlights were there too, but their lights dimmed to a faint incandescent wire, some flickering like a death rattle.  Up ahead, the figure was formless and void, but at the same time had distinct boundaries in matter.  The face was there, but it seemed suspended in the background ahead of Finnick.  It could have been his biological instinct to recognize facial features anywhere, but something about he way the particles had manifested gave rise to a confined presence ahead.  It could see, and Finnick knew it.  It could communicate, and that was what Finnick did, somehow knowing that was what he was supposed to do.  

"Where is the road?"  He inquired.  There was always a road.   _Beneath you,_ the figure replied.   _The flood always comes.  The world lay beneath the waters once, until the wickedness of the earth returned it to when it was without form and void.  That is the way of the world._

"So the lights are going out."  Finnick continued, his voice vivid and not echoing.  "Why must they go out?"  

 _All things must end._ The figure replied.   _And so they must be reborn._ _All you must do is turn on the light again.  You must let there be light._

Finnick regarded the figure for a moment, pondering his situation.  Another thought struck him, and he ventured out a topic of inquiry he hoped the figure would answer.  "I see Ramiel's life."  he said, "I see his memories...his imagination...feel his emotions...think his thoughts...am I myself?  Or am I someone else?  Am I real?"

 _Are you?_ The figure replied.   _You think, therefore you are._

"But I'm not sure."  Finnick protested, swirling his footpaws on the submerged asphalt,  "I don't even know where I am now."

 _That is the beginning of wisdom._ The figure replied.   _So speak the truth and see what happens.  Truth is a torch...it burns off dead wood._

"Dead wood..."  Finnick muttered, raising an eyebrow, "How much must I burn away?"  

 _Until the core remains._ The figure replied.   Inexplicably, Finnick realized he had felt no itch or usual twinge from his dragonfly tattoo, and he instinctively reached back to scratch it.  It was still there, but it seemed larger, and more swollen than usual.

"Who are you?"  Finnick inquired.  He had already met Ramiel, and this was not him.  The formless figure seemed to swirl and ripple over the face of the waters, and a peculiar sense of familiarity gripped Finnick.  He did not want the figure to leave.  

_You already know, Daniel.  I am never far away.  Dola is close, but I am closer.  Pay attention, and you will see me._

 


End file.
